o: 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


'S?  s ///>  s 


SERMONS 


CONSOLATION. 


BY   [P.  _W,   P.    GREENWOOD,    D.  D., 

MINISTER  or  KING'S  CHAPEL,  BOSTON. 


THIRD      EDITION, 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM  D.  TICKNOR  &  COMPANY. 


M  DCCC  XL VII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1842,  by 

CHARLES  C.  LITTLE  AND  JAMES  BROWN, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


BOSTON : 

PRINTED  BY  FREEMAN  AND  BOLLES, 
DEVONSHIRE  STREET. 


PREFACE. 


I  HAVE  been  induced  to  publish  a  volume  of 
sermons,  chiefly  by  the  desire  of  being  yet  heard 
by  the  people  of  my  ministry,  though  withheld  by 
the  hand  of  Providence  from  addressing  or  meet- 
ing them  in  the  church.  But  I  will  not  deny, 
that  with  this  desire  was  mingled  the  hope,  that 
the  volume  might  be  received  with  favor,  and 
do  some  service,  beyond  the  bounds  of  my 
parish. 

The  tone  and  character  of  the  sermons  have 
been  determined  by  the  conviction  I  have  enter- 
tained, in  common  with  many  of  my  brethren, 
that  a  great  dearth  existed  of  books  of  a  consola- 
tory character,  Sfuch '  as  are  earnestly  sought  for 
by  mourners  in  the  days  of  their  mourning,  and 
are  suitable  to  be  placed  in  their  hands.  Although 
the  deficiency  has  of  late  been  partly  supplied  by 
one  or  two  useful  compilations,  I  am  acquainted 
with  no  volume  of  sermons  devoted  to  the  single 
purpose  of  consolation.  If  there  be  sugh  a  volume, 
it  has  not  come  into  use  among  us. 


V  PREFACE. 

But  while  I  have  given  my  collection  of  dis- 
courses unity,  by  restricting  it  to  this  one  object, 
I  am  conscious  that  I  have  at  the  same  time  ex- 
posed it  to  the  charge  of  containing  repetitions, 
not  of  thought  only,  but  of  phrase.  Repetitions, 
doubtless,  there  are;  but  I  know  not  how  they 
could  easily  have  been  avoided,  and  I  trust  they 
will  not  prove  tiresome.  The  discourses  were 
written  separately,  at  distant  intervals,  and  with 
no  idea,  at  the  time,  that  they  would  ever  be 
brought  together.  Moreover,  the  great  sources  of 
consolation  are  but  few,  and  remain  the  same  from 
year  to  year  and  age  to  age ;  because  they  are 
sufficient  for  their  end,  and  for  our  condition. 
Not  being  able  to  avoid  repetition  entirely,  I 
have,  however,  obviated  the  difficulty  as  far  as 
possible,  by  introducing  a  large  variety  of  topics 
within  the  prescribed  limits;  the  end  being  always 
that  of  consolation. 

The  date,  which  is  printed  at  the  end  of  each 
sermon,  denotes  the  time  when  it  was  first 
preached.  I  have  done  this,  which  in  itself  can 
be  of  no  inconvenience  to  the  reader,  merely  for 
the  sake  of  my  own  private  reference. 

F.  w.  P.  o. 

NOVEMBER  1,  1842. 


CONTENTS. 


SERMON    I. 
SORROW  AND  JOY 


SERMON    II. 
GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE 14 

SERMON    III. 
GOD  ALL-POWERFUL 27 

SERMON   IV. 
GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS 41 

SERMON    V. 
FOLLY  OF  ATHEISM 53 

SERMON    VI. 
DWELLING  IN  THE  TEMPLE  ...         64 


VI  CONTENTS. 

SERMON    VII. 
DEATH  AN  APPOINTMENT 77 

SERMON   VIII. 
THE  TIME  OF  DEATH 87 

SERMON    IX. 
THE  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING  102 

SERMON    X. 
CONSOLATIONS  OF  RELIGION 114 

SERMON    XL 
BLESSING  GOD  IN  BEREAVEMENT          ....        127 

SERMON    XII. 
REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS      ....        139 

SERMON    XIII. 
NOTHING  WITHOUT  CHRIST    ....;.         151 

SERMON    XIV. 
PERPETUITY  OF  CHRIST'S  KINGDOM      ....        164 

SERMON    XV. 
INDEPENDENCE  ON  HUMAN  SYMPATHY  .        .        .        178 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

SERMON    XVI. 

CHRIST  OUR  FELLOW-SUFFERER  ....        191 

SERMON   XVII. 
SEEING  THE  DEPARTED 205 

SERMON    XVIII. 

THE  CKOWN  OF  THORNS       .        .        .        .  "'  ."'     217 

SERMON   XIX. 
RECOGNITION  OF  FRIENDS 228 

SERMON   XX. 
VOICES  FROM  HEAVEN 253 

SERMON    XXI. 
THE  GOOD  REVEALED 265 

SERMON    XXII. 
WALKING  BY  FAITH 279 

SERMON   XXIII. 
LESSONS  OF  AUTUMN 291 

SERMON    XXIV. 
IT  is  WELL   .  .304 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

SERMON    XXV. 
OFFICES  OF  MEMORY 316 

SERMON    XXVI. 
PEACEFUL  SLKBP  .332 

SERMON    XXVII. 

CHRIST  WITH  us  AT  EVENING      .        .        .        .        .        343 


SERMONS. 


SERMON  I. 


SORROW   AND    JOY. 

IS    ANT    AMONG    YOU    AFFLICTED  ?      LET    HIM    PHAY.      IS   ANY 
MEKRY?       LET    HIM   SING   PSALMS. — James    Y.    13. 

MUCH  of  the  experience,  which  is  also  intended  to 
be  the  discipline  of  life,  is  divided  between  its 
sorrows  and  its  joys.  It  is  the  counsel  of  the 
apostle  James,  that  the  sentiments  and  principles 
of  religion  should  be  present  with  their  holy  in- 
fluences in  both  of  these  conditions.  He  would 
have  us  sanctify  our  troubles,  and  our  pleasures, 
by  thoughts  of  Him  who  appoints  them.  Whether 
the  heart  be  depressed  by  grief,  or  elated  by 
gladness,  let  it  be  placed  under  the  wise  care  of 
piety,  so  that  it  may  be  neither  sunk  too  low,  nor 
raised  too  high,  but  always  kept  within  the  sphere 
1 


2  SORROW   AND    JOY. 

of  duty,  and  near  unto  God.  It  must  be  so 
instructed,  that  it  may  pour  out  its  fulness  in 
supplication,  or  in  praise,  and  not  suffer  the 
wealth  of  its  deep  fountains  to  run  to  waste. 

Some  hearts  are  guided,  and  some  are  not,  by 
the  spirit  of  our  text ;  and  mankind  might  almost 
be  classed,  with  regard  to  religious  character,  by 
the  different  ways  in  which  they  entertain  sorrow 
and  joy.  In  determining  for  ourselves  the  great 
question,  whether  we  are  living  under  the  law  of 
God,  or  not,  whether  we  are  guided  and  governed 
by  his  voice,  or  not,  whether  we  reverently  regard 
his  will,  or  not,  we  can  have  no  better  criterion, 
than  the  manner  in  which  we  find  ourselves 
affected  by  the  chastenings  and  the  mercies,  by 
the  dark  and  the  bright  dispensations  of  his 
providence.  In  determining  the  same  question, 
also,  concerning  others,  so  far  as  we  are  permitted 
to  determine  it,  that  is  to  say,  in  forming  those 
opinions  of  general  and  individual  character, 
which  observation  and  intercourse  oblige  and 
require  us  to  form,  but  which  should  always  be 
directed  by  the  utmost  fairness  and  the  gentlest 
charity,  the  same  criterion  may  be  applied,  only 
with  far  more  caution  and  tenderness  in  the  case 
of  others  than  in  our  own.  What  we  know  of 


SORROW   AND   JOY.  3 

ourselves  will  assist  us  in  our  observation  of 
others ;  what  we  see  of  others,  will  aid  us  in  the 
examination  of  ourselves.  But  it  is  ourselves 
whom  we  should  search  the  most  thoroughly,  and 
judge  the  most  strictly.  It  is  ourselves  of  whom 
we  should  learn  the  most,  know  the  most,  and 
exact  the  most. 

How  then  is  it  with  us  in  those  two  opposite 
conditions  of  existence  to  which  our  text  refers  ? 
How  is  it  with  our  own  souls,  when  they  are 
overwhelmed  by  sorrow,  and  when  they  are  illu- 
mined by  joy  ?  To  which  class  do  we  belong  1 
to  those  who  regard,  or  those  who  disregard  the 
counsel  of  the  apostle  ? 

To  consider,  first,  the  condition  which  is  first 
mentioned  in  the  text,  how  is  it  with  our  souls  in 
sorrow  ?  How  are  they  affected  ?  How  do  they 
demean  themselves  ?  Where  do  they  look  1 
What  is  their  language  1  When  we  are  afflicted, 
do  we  pray  ?  Do  we  go  for  comfort  to  the  Com- 
forter? Do  we  lay  the  burden  of  our  woes  at 
the  feet  of  our  Father  ?  Do  we  sympathize  with 
the  spirit  of  the  Psalmist,  when  he  says,  "  Be 
merciful  unto  me,  O  God,  be  merciful  unto  me, 
for  my  soul  trusteth  in  thee ;  and  under  the  sha- 
dow of  thy  wings  shall  be  my  refuge,  until  this 


4  SORROW   AND   JOY. 

calamity  be  overpast  ?  "  Do  we  regard  adversi- 
ties as  the  sober  angels  of  God,  sent  from  him, 
and  leading  to  him;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  as 
if  affliction  came  forth  from  the  ground,  do  we 
rest  our  regards  upon  the  ground,  and  cast  up- 
wards not  a  glance,  not  a  hope,  not  the  least 
whispering  of  a  prayer  ?  Are  we  never  brought 
before  the  footstool  of  the  Almighty,  but  by  some 
signal  misfortune,  some  strong  and  irresistible 
grief,  and  only  then  to  cry  out  in  terror,  or  impa- 
tience, and  pray  to  be  delivered  from  trouble, 
without  praying  for  submission,  and  strength  to 
bear  it?  If  this  is  all  our  prayer,  we  do  not 
pray.  There  is  no  faith,  no  humility,  no  resig- 
nation in  such  a  cry.  It  is  complaint,  not  prayer. 
We  are  among  the  worldly.  We  have  yet  to 
learn  the  nature,  and  to  experience  the  power  of 
true  religion. 

Let  us  look  for  a  moment  about  us,  and 
observe  how  sorrows  are  entertained  by  the  mass 
of  mankind.  If  they  are  afflicted,  do  they  pray  ? 
Far  from  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  it  is  necessary 
they  should  pray  aloud  in  affliction,  and  before 
the  presence  of  men.  Nor  would  such  praying, 
of  itself,  and  unaccompanied  by  other  manifesta- 
tions, prove  that  they  prayed.  But  their  man- 


SORROW   AND   JOY.  6 

ners,  their  language,  their  conduct,  show  plainly 
that  they  do  not  pray ;  that  the  spirit  within 
them  does  not  pray ;  that  they  do  not  bow  them- 
selves down  in  humble  supplication  before  Him 
who  chastens  them.  They  do  not  look  beyond 
the  mere  event,  the  loss,  the  disappointment,  the 
pain,  the  care,  or  whatever  else  the  immediate 
occasion  of  their  grief  may  be.  They  do  not 
attempt  to  raise  themselves  above  it.  They  are 
the  slaves  of  circumstance.  They  talk  of  fate. 
They  murmur  at  their  destiny.  They  blindly 
submit  to  a  blind  fortune,  or  as  blindly  struggle, 
and  fight  against  it. 

One  man  is  irritated  by  adversity.  He  takes 
no  pains  to  conceal  his  vexation.  The  gloom  of 
night  is  under  his  brows.  He  speaks  as  if  he  had 
suffered  some  sore  injustice.  He  cannot  specify 
any  individual  who  has  wronged  him,  but  con- 
ceives himself  wronged  in  some  way  by  the  event 
itself,  which  causes  his  affliction;  and,  as  he 
cannot  make  the  event  feel  any  retaliation,  he 
vents  his  moroseness  in  the  ears,  or  to  the  eyes  of 
all  who  approach  him.  He  is  voluble  of  his  vain 
and  wearying  complaints,  or  he  chills  and  darkens 
the  surrounding  atmosphere  by  his  stern  and  for- 
bidding aspect. 


6         .  SORROW   AND   JOY. 

Another  man  is  not  irritated  by  adversity,  or  at 
least  he  does  not  openly  show  that  he  is  irritated. 
He  endures  misfortune,  bereavement,  pain.  But 
what  endurance  !  hard,  cold,  proud,  or  reckless. 
What  endurance  !  turning  away  from  thought, 
ignorant  of  the  ministry  of  hope,  fastened  to  the 
cheerless  present,  holding  no  converse  with  the 
invisible,  and  the  future.  What  endurance !  stiff- 
ening and  cramping,  not  supporting  the  soul.  It 
speaks  the  sufferer's  mind  as  plainly  as  words 
could  speak,  and  says,  "There!  it  has  come,  and 
I  must  bear  it ;  it  is  done,  and  cannot  be  undone. 
The  harsh  commands  of  fate  are  issued,  and  as  I 
cannot  resist,  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  submit  to 
them.  As  I  cannot  cure  the  ills  of  fortune,  the 
world  shall  see  that  I  can  endure  them.  I  will 
not  complain ;  for  what  is  the  use  of  complaining  ? 
I  cannot  help  what  has  happened,  and  why 
should  I  trouble  myself  about  it?  "  This  is  his 
endurance ;  and  this  is  all  the  use  which  he  sees 
fit  to  make  of  the  moral  strength,  and  spiritual 
capacities  with  which  God  has  endowed  him, 
and  of  the  lessons  which  God  has  sent  him. 
He  has  a  soul,  as  if  he  had  it  not.  He  has  a  soul, 
made  in  the  likeness  of  its  Creator,  and  he  seems 
as  unmindful  of  that  divine  affinity,  as  if  it  had 


SORROW   AND    JOY.  ^     '* 

been  made  by  chance,  in  the  likeness  of  chance, 
and  under  the  absolute  dominion  of  chance. 

The  way  in  which  joy  is  received,  and  appre- 
ciated by  the  multitude,  is  not  in  its  nature  differ- 
ent from  their  entertainment  of  sorrow.  It  shows 
the  same  shallowness,  the  same  want  of  reflec- 
tion, and  hope,  and  elevation,  the  same  confine- 
ment to  the  present,  the  same  dependence  on  cir- 
cumstance. The  joy  of  one  will  be  noisy  and 
boisterous,  while  that  of  another  will  run  in  a 
gentler,  though  not  a  deeper  stream.  Both  are 
derived  from  casual  sources,  flow  but  a  short  dis- 
tance, and  are  soon  dried  up.  There  is  enough 
of  mirth  among  men,  but  very  little  pious  mirth. 
The  spirit  which  is  made  glad  by  the  mercies  of 
God,  singeth  no  psalms  to  his  praise,  and  giveth 
no  glory  to  his  name.  It  heedeth  not  the  Psalm- 
ist's injunction,  "  Praise  the  Lord,  O  my  soul, 
and  forget  not  all  his  benefits."  It  was  never 
mindful  of  those  benefits,  and  therefore  cannot 
even  forget  them.  Its  music  has  no  rich  chords 
of  grateful  feeling,  but  is  light  and  fugitive;  a 
song  of  earth,  transient  as  dew,  but  not  like  the 
dew  rising  to  heaven.  There  is  no  heart  in  such 
joy.  It  sends  forth  no  pulses  of  life,  no  perma- 
nent influences.  It  is  a  sentiment  which  looks 


8  SORROW    AND   JOY. 

not  beyond  the  occasion  which  gave  it  birth,  and 
remains  not  when  the  occasion  is  gone.  He,  by 
whom  it  is  experienced,  is  not  carried  by  it  be- 
yond its  own  immediate  precincts.  He  rests  in 
the  mere  event.  He  takes  the  blessing  which 
descends  to  him  from  above,  as  if  he  had  found 
it,  or  bought  it ;  as  if  it  were  entirely  his  own, 
his  own  to  use  as  he  pleases,  to  abuse  if  he 
pleases.  He  receives,  but  considers  not  that  there 
is  One  who  bestows.  He  enjoys,  but  his  heart  is 
made  no  holier,  nor  more  peaceful  by  his  happi- 
ness. He  is  merry,  but  no  psalm  of  thanksgiv- 
ing tells  of  his  gladness,  or  perpetuates  its  mem- 
ory ;  no  incense  of  sweet  savour  is  burnt  on  the 
cold  and  unvisited  altar  of  the  temple  within. 

Am  1  at  all  unjust  in  these  delineations  1  Are 
not  the  joys  and  the  sorrows  of  many  thus  borne, 
thus  appreciated  ?  If  I  am  right  so  far,  then  the 
conclusion  follows  inevitably,  that  this  number  are 
either  without  religion,  or  that  their  religion  is 
for  the  most  part  nominal,  and  without  efficacy. 
Some  make  no  pretensions  to  religion.  They 
neither  have,  nor  claim  to  have  it.  Are  we  con- 
tent to  be  numbered  among  them  ?  God  grant 
that  we  may  not  be.  But  if  we  are  not,  we  must 
necessarily  fall  into  the  class  of  those  whose  reli- 


SORROW   AND   JOY.  9 

gion  is  lifeless  and  inefficient,  if  our  sorrow  is 
prayerless,  and  the  hymn  of  our  joy  rises  not  to 
heaven.  This  is  a  test,  from  the  certainty  of 
which  we  need  not  strive  to  free  ourselves  by  any 
sophistry,  for  there  is  no  such  thing  as  eluding  it. 
If  in  adversity  we  are  murmuring  and  despairing, 
or  rigid  and  obstinate ;  if  in  prosperity  we  con- 
gratulate ourselves  without  thanking  our  Maker 
or  even  thinking  of  him  ;  if  the  occasions  of  grief 
and  gladness  do  not  both  lead  us  into  his  presence 
and  unite  us  to  him  with  increasing  closeness, 
we  may  be  sure  that  our  religion  is  sadly  deficient, 
that  it  is  little  more  than  a  name,  and  that  we 
are  very  far  from  the  kingdom  of  God. 

But  who  is  he  in  whose  heart  the  principles  of 
religion  have  been  carefully,  tenderly  fostered,  and 
on  whose  conduct  and  life  they  exercise  their 
proper  energies,  and  to  whose  character  they 
yield  their  natural  fruits  ?  We  may  know  him  by 
his  deportment  in  the  day  of  tribulation  and 
anguish,  and  in  the  day  of  prosperity  and  rejoic- 
ing ;  and  if  we  can  see  in  our  own  deportment 
any  good  correspondence  to  his,  we  have  a  fair 
ground  for  concluding  that  our  hearts  and  lives 
are  regulated  by  the  same  influences,  that  we  have 
some  true  knowledge  of  religion,  some  practical 


10  SORROW    AND   JOY. 

experience  of  its  supporting  and  sanctifying  power. 
In  affliction  he  prays.  He  needs  not  to  be  directly 
reminded  of  the  apostle's  counsel.  He  goes  easily 
and  naturally,  and  by  an  inward  prompting,  to  his 
heavenly  Father,  and  unbosoms  his  griefs  before 
him.  He  waits  not  for  other  consolations,  but 
looks  immediately  to  the  grace  of  God,  saying, 
"  O  God,  thou  art  my  God ;  early  will  I  seek 
thee."  "  From  the  ends  of  the  earth  will  I  call 
upon  thee,  when  my  heart  is  in  heaviness."  The 
answer  of  his  prayer  is  peace.  There  is  peace  on 
his  countenance,  peace  in  his  gentle  words,  peace 
in  his  kind  deportment,  because  peace  has  come 
down  from  God,  whose  only  gift  it  is,  and  has 
taken  up  its  abode  in  his  quiet  and  trusting  soul. 
You  may  witness  his  sadness,  you  may  see  his 
tears ;  but  his  sadness  wears  no  despairing  or 
repulsive  guise,  and  there  is  no  unbecoming  pas- 
sion in  his  tears.  He  complains  riot  of  fate,  for 
he  acknowledges  no  such  power.  He  neither 
reviles  nor  submits  to  fortune,  for  he  worships 
not  fortune,  but  the  eternal  and  unchangeable 
God.  How  soft  is  his  sorrow,  and  how  it  softens 
without  distressing  others ! 

And  how  harmless,  how  childlike,  how  grateful 
is  his  joy !     How  careful  is  he  not  to  let  it  run  to 


SORROW    AND    JOY.  11 

riot,  and  spend  itself  in  vain  dissipation.  The 
song  of  his  gladness  is  a  psalm  of  gratitude,  the 
echoes  of  which  may  be  heard  from  every  object 
around  him.  He  sympathizes  with  all  the  inno- 
cent joy  on  the  earth,  but  he  remembers  that  all 
this  joy  has  a  source ;  and  as  before  in  sorrow,  so 
now  in  delight,  he  looks  beyond  earth  and  earthly 
things.  He  regarded  affliction  as  sent,  and  he 
prayed  and  was  resigned.  He  regards  his  hap- 
piness as  given,  and  he  is  grateful,  and  seeks  to 
impart  of  his  abundance,  and  make  others  happy, 
and  cheerful,  and  grateful. 

"  His  fine- toned  heart,  like  the  harp  of  the  winds, 
Answers  in  sweetness  each  breeze  that  sings  ; 

And  the  storm  of  grief,  and  the  breath  of  joy, 
Draw  nothing  but  music  from  its  strings." 

Is  this  the  manner  in  which  we  receive  the  im- 
pressions of  sorrow  and  joy?  Are  we  free  from 
temporal  bonds,  and  the  authority  of  passing 
things?  Is  it  our  custom  to  rise  above  the 
shadows  of  earth  into  the  light  of  heaven  ?  Do 
we  get  out  from  the  thraldom  of  mere  events,  and 
regard  what  is  beyond  and  above  these  events? 
In  these  two  great  conditions  of  life,  the  sad  and 
the  joyful  conditions,  do  we  acknowledge  a  Su- 


12  SORROW   AND   JOY. 

preme  Disposer,  and  connect  ourselves  with  him, 
and  feel  and  act  as  under  his  disposal  1  If  so, 
then  we  are  not  strangers  to  religion.  We  are  in 
the  right  way,  the  way  of  life,  and  without  doubt 
or  mistrust,  should  use  the  best  of  our  diligence  to 
press  onward  in  the  same.  Doubt  and  mistrust 
belong  only  to  those,  who  have  not  made  religion 
their  own,  by  a  practical  and  close  application  of 
its  principles  to  the  conditions  of  their  life.  They 
may  have  professed  religion,  and  may  have 
thought,  with  entire  sincerity,  that  religion  was  no 
stranger  to  them.  But  they  have  not  made  it 
their  own,  unless  they  have  experienced  its  in- 
structing and  sustaining  power;  unless  it  has 
taught  them  to  pray  and  to  sing.  It  really  abides 
with  those  alone,  within  whom  it  effectually  works. 
They  who  have  experienced  its  help  and  opera- 
tion within  them,  cannot  doubt  of  its  presence, 
and  cannot  mistrust  its  character.  It  is  not  with 
them  a  matter  of  profession  only,  but  of  convic- 
tion. They  do  not  doubt,  because  they  know. 
They  are  not  distracted  between  this  and  that 
opinion  or  form,  but  they  go  on  in  the  path  which 
they  have  felt  to  be  that  of  truth  and  salvation, 
because  in  it  they  have  met  with  strength,  and 
health,  and  joy.  They  do  not  stop  or  hesitate, 


SORROW   AND   JOY.  13 

but  they  go  steadfastly  onwards,  praying  always 
in  the  spirit  and  making  melody  in  their  hearts 
unto  God. 

MARCH  24,  1833. 


SERMON  II. 


GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

BEHOLD,  I  GO  FORWARD,  BUT  HE  IS  NOT  THERE  ;  AND  BACKWARD, 
BUT  I  CANNOT  PERCEIVE  HIM  ;  ON  THE  LEFT  HAND,  WHERE  HE 
DOTH  WORK,  BUT  I  CANNOT  BEHOLD  HIM  ;  HE  HIDETH  HIMSELF  ON 
THE  RIGHT  HAND,  THAT  I  CANNOT  SEE  HIM. — Job  Xxiii.  8. 

THE  God  whom  we  worship  is  incomprehensible. 
The  Being  whom  we  are  required  to  serve,  is  not 
subject  to  the  apprehension  of  any  of  our  senses. 
The  Spirit,  holy,  uncreate,  and  eternal,  whom  the 
heart  should  love  supremely,  and  the  mind  must 
reverence  with  an  awful  fear,  cannot  be  grasped 
by  the  spirit  of  man.  The  stream  perceives  not 
its  fountain;  the  creature  understands  not  its  cre- 
ator. Many  things  we  know,  but  we  know  not 
him  who  knows  us  best,  far  better  than  we  know 
ourselves.  Our  faculties  make  their  little  pro- 
gresses from  infancy  to  maturity  ;  the  human  in- 
tellect enlarges  by  painful  additions  the  field  of 
its  exercise ;  and  the  stores  of  knowledge  receive 
a  slow  and  fluctuating  increase  from  age  to  age ; 


GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE.  15 

but  the  Source  of  all  intelligence  is  not  found  out 
to  perfection,  the  depths  of  the  Divine  Mind  re- 
main nnfathomed.  We  may  go  forward ;  we  may 
pierce  as  far  as  our  sight  will  permit  us,  into  the 
uncertain  void  of  futurity :  from  the  accumulated 
heights  of  what  we  have  done,  we  may  look  out 
on  the  shadowy  and  misty  scene  of  what  we  may 
do  —  but  He  is  not  there ;  there  is  no  promise  in 
our  nature  which  leads  us  to  hope  for  a  clearer 
discernment  on  earth  of  the  nature  of  God.  We 
may  go  backward,  far  back  among  the  monuments 
and  opinions  and  great  names  of  remotest  antiquity, 
but  there  we  cannot  perceive  him,  there  we  find 
no  knowledge  of  him  greater  than  our  own.  The 
lights  of  antiquity  shed  no  brightness,  the  sages 
are  confounded,  and  the  oracles  are  dumb.  We 
may  turn  to  the  right  hand  and  to  the  left,  and 
though  we  are  surrounded  by  the  works,  we  cannot 
behold  the  Maker  ;  we  see  beauty  and  order,  and 
we  infer  that  the  Cause  must  be  wise ;  we  see 
magnificence  and  sublimity,  and  we  know  that  the 
Cause  is  great ;  happiness,  and  we  call  it  merciful 
and  good ;  but  that  which  is  thus  wise  and  great 
and  good  we  cannot  see ;  He  hideth  himself,  so 
that  we  cannot  perceive  him. 

God  is  incomprehensible  in  two  principal  re- 


16  GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

spects ;  in  his  nature,  and  in  the  ways  of  his 
Providence ;  in  the  modes  of  his  existence,  and 
the  modes  of  his  government. 

He  is  invisible,  and  on  that  account  incompre- 
hensible. No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time,  nor 
can  see  him;  it  is  not  given  to  us  to  look  upon  his 
face,  and  live.  We  know  that  he  must  be  about 
us,  wherever  we  are ;  but  that  he  is  so,  is  a  deduc- 
tion of  reason,  and  not  an  intimation  of  sense. 
Whatever  is  invisible,  must  be  unknown  in  all 
those  respects  in  which  sight  contributes  to  knowl- 
edge. Definiteness  at  least  is  wanting  to  our  per- 
ceptions. Form  is  absent,  and  there  is  no  ground 
for  experiment  or  investigation.  In  another  state 
of  being,  it  is  possible,  that  Deity  may  be  perceived 
without  being  seen,  but  in  this  mortal  life  the  in- 
tervention of  the  senses  is  necessary  to  the  satis- 
faction of  our  inquiries ;  and  that  of  which  they 
can  take  no  cognizance,  is  always,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, incomprehensible,  if  it  be  of  the  nature  of 
substantial  existence. 

God  is  incomprehensible,  secondly,  because  he  is 
eternal;  and  of  eternity  itself  we  can  form  no  ade- 
quate conception.  That  this  is  an  attribute  of 
Deity,  is  a  plain  conclusion  of  reason ;  and  yet, 
that  which  our  reason  tells  us  must  be,  is  not  in 


GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE.  It 

itself  to  be  comprehended  by  reason.  It  must  be, 
that  everything  which  does  or  ever  did  exist  should 
be  brought  into  existence  by  some  cause  ;  and  it 
must  be  that  the  cause  of  everything  else  is  itself 
uncaused,  independent,  without  beginning,  and 
without  end.  What  thoughts  are  these !  They 
can  hardly  be  called  thoughts,  they  are  without 
form  and  void,  like  chaos —  they  call  for  the  brood- 
ing inspiration  of  the  Creator  himself,  in  some  dis- 
tant and  high  exalted  state  of  our  own  infant  being, 
to  reduce  them  into  order  and  distinctness,  and 
pronounce  over  them  the  incommunicable  will,  Let 
there  be  light.  And  yet,  that  the  first  Cause  could 
ever  begin  to  exist,  or  that  there  ever  was  a  time, 
go  back  as  far  as  you  will,  before  which  there  was 
no  time,  is,  I  will  not  say  inconceivable,  but  unrea- 
sonable and  absurd.  There  must  have  been  time, 
antecedent  to  any  supposed  time ;  and  that  time 
must  have  been  an  eternity  ;  and  coeval  with  that 
unimaginable  eternity  must  have  been  the  exist- 
ence of  thegreatFirst  Cause,  the  eternal,  immortal, 
invisible  God,  God  the  uncreated,  and  the  incom- 
prehensible. To  escape,  therefore,  from  an  absurd- 
ity, the  tired  and  feeble  thought  is  forced  to  take  ref- 
uge and  rest  from  its  baffled  flight,  in  that  which  is 
incomprehensible.  Truly,  he  hideth  himself  from 
2 


18  GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

the  search  of  our  slow  and  partial  faculties,  and 
we  cannot  see  him. 

Again,  God  is  incomprehensible,  because  he  is 
omnipotent  and  infinite.  He  fills  all  space,  as  well 
as  all  time  ;  inhabits  both  immensity  and  eternity  ; 
is  endless  and  boundless.  Equally  present  through- 
out his  vast  dominions,  he  lives  and  reigns,  absolute 
and  unapproachable.  In  the  calm  silence  of  a 
starry  night,  we  look  up  to  the  myriads  of  worlds 
which  adore  God  in  their  brightness  ;  we  calculate 
with  time  and  pains  the  distance  of  one  of  these 
from  the  spot  on  which  we  stand,  and  the  result 
seems  like  a  fable,  and  overwhelms  us  with  aston- 
ishment. By  artificial  aids  to  our  sight,  new  spar- 
kles of  heavenly  fire  emerge  into  the  field  of  vision, 
as  distant  from  those  we  last  saw,  as  they  from  us. 
We  borrow  augmented  assistance,  and  dim  and 
struggling  spots  of  light  appear,  worlds,  doubtless, 
and  systems  of  worlds,  but  remote  from  us  beyond 
the  power  of  science  to  compute  their  remoteness, 
far  away  in  the  unknown  deep,  with  their  own 
fair  brotherhood  around  them.  Yet  what  is  this? 
What  is  this  incalculable  reach  of  nature's  trebled 
vision,  but  a  glimpse  into  the  thin  suburbs  of  crea- 
tion ;  an  uncertain  and  unsatisfactory  glance  upon 
the  sentinels  and  outposts  merely  of  that  host  of 


GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 


19 


heaven  and  army  of  God,  which  stretch  their  num- 
berless rank  beyond  ?  And  there  too,  in  the  midst, 
and  all  around,  is  God,  to  uphold  what  he  has  cre- 
ated, to  regulate  what  he  has  ordained.  And  how 
can  we  perceive,  how  can  we  know  the  Maker, 
when  we  see  but  a  small  fragment  only  of  the 
works,  throughout  the  whole  of  which  he  dwells 
invisible  ? 

Neither  are  our  ideas  capable  of  rising  to  the 
summits  of  God's  power  and  wisdom.  We  know 
that  these  must  be  as  infinite  as  the  universe  ;  that 
they  must  be  equal  to  every  demand  which  has 
been,  or  may  be  made,  on  their  exertion,  by  bound- 
less space  and  endless  time,  and  a  varied  and 
mighty  creation.  How  the  same  Hand  which 
holds  and  balances  all  worlds,  should  also  give  to 
every  bird  its  plumage,  and  every  blade  of  grass 
its  hidden  texture,  and  every  insect  its  invisibly 
minute  and  yet  perfect  economy;  and  how  the  same 
Mind  which  orders  the  motions  of  the  planets,  and 
regulates  the  seasons,  and  commands  the  light- 
nings, and  weighs  the  proportions  of  the  atmo- 
sphere, should  also  note  each  sparrow  which  falls 
to  the  ground,  and  number  all  the  hairs  of  our 
heads,  is  something  which  we  may  distantly  ad- 
mire, and  yet  endeavor  to  reach  in  vain.  It  is 


20  GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

knowledge  too  high  for  us,  and  we  cannot  attain 
unto  it. 

Thus  we  see  it  follow,  even  from  what  we  are 
said  to  know  of  God,  and  what  in  a  limited  sense 
indeed  we  do  know,  that  he  is  not  to  be  known 
with  intimacy  ;  that  we  cannot  perceive  him  ;  that 
he  is  incomprehensible.  And  let  it  not  be  inti- 
mated that  the  foregoing  remarks  are  mere  specu- 
lations. They  are  speculations  truly,  but  not  mere 
or  useless  speculations,  if  they  help  to  induce  us 
to  bow  before  the  Supreme  Spirit  with  a  reveren- 
tial awe,  and  to  abase  our  own  spirits  into  their 
humble  and  proper  domains.  For  at  the  same 
time  that  the  majesty  and  greatness  of  God  are 
set  forth  by  the  incomprehensibleness  of  his  na- 
ture, the  weakness  of  our  own  nature  is  mani- 
fested, which  is  unable  to  comprehend  him. 

But  though  we  have  attended  to  the  mysteries 
of  God's  existence,  we  have  not  yet  spoken  of  the 
wonders  of  his  ways,  and  the  dispensations  of  his 
providence.  Here  too  he  is  incomprehensible. 
We  stand  and  contemplate  the  only  world  of 
whose  affairs  we  have  any  knowledge,  a  world 
in  which  evil  is  mixed  in  large  proportions  with 
good,  and  we  are  prompted  to  ask,  why  this  is  so  ? 
Why  are  the  resistless  elements  convulsed  out  of 


GOD  INCOMPREHENSIBLE.  21 

their  peaceful  duties  into  angry  and  fearful  con- 
tention? Or,  if  they  must  sometimes  breathe 
their  energies  in  battle,  why  must  earth  be  deso- 
lated, and  earth's  inhabitants  be  mournfully  swept 
away  in  the  struggle  1  And,  far  worse  than  any 
physical  evil  or  disorder,  why  is  sin  permitted  to 
enter  the  bowers  of  innocence,  and  blight  its  blos- 
soms ;  to  exercise  dominion  over  the  soul  of  man, 
and  often  to  reduce  it  into  hopeless  slavery  ?  We 
see  the  proud  sinner  triumph  ;  we  see  the  right- 
eous man  distressed.  We  are  made  to  know, 
that  from  the  first  instant  of  its  being,  human 
flesh  is  the  weeping  heir  of  unnumbered  ills. 
Diseases  lay  waiting  in  disregarded  ambush,  and 
rush  out  upon  us  with  deathful  strength.  The 
grass  can  hardly  grow  over  a  domestic  tomb, 
before  the  turf  is  broken  up  to  admit  a  new  depo- 
sit beneath  it.  Nor  is  this  all.  The  single,  the 
unconnected,  the  apparently  useless,  who  care  for 
none,  and  for  whom  no  one  cares,  live  on  into 
shaking  age  and  a  second  childhood ;  while  the 
son,  who,  by  his  manly  exertions  placed  himself 
as  a  staff  in  the  hands  of  his  parents,  is  suddenly 
struck  from  under  them ;  or  the  parent,  on  whom 
a  young  family  depended  for  support,  advice, 
instruction,  sympathy,  is  removed  by  a  dark,  a 


22  GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

seemingly  midnight  destiny,  from  their  presence, 
and  the  orphans  are  left  to  wander  on  alone 
through  the  uncertain  fortunes  of  the  world. 

We  are  troubled  in  our  hearts  at  these  things, 
and  say  that  they  are  obscure  and  unaccountable, 
and  that  we  do  not  understand  them.  How 
should  we  understand  them  ?  That  these  seem- 
ing disorders  sometimes  produce  evident  good, 
cannot  be  denied,  and  then  we  perceive  their 
heavenly  purposes ;  but  why  is  it  wonderful,  or 
why  should  we  be  troubled,  that  in  many  cases 
we  cannot  comprehend  them,  while  we  so  feebly 
and  imperfectly  comprehend  the  Being  who 
directs  them  1  When  we  can  see  the  whole  plan 
of  universal  government  spread  out  plainly  before 
us ;  when  we  are  acquainted  with  all  that  is 
done  in  each  orb  of  creation,  and  with  all  the 
connections  between  each  other  orb  and  our  own ; 
when  all  space  unrolls  itself  like  a  scroll  to  our 
vision  ;  when  the  acts  of  time  past  and  the  secrets 
of  time  to  come  are  made  present  to  our  watching 
mind  ;  when  we  can  behold  the  end  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  trace  all  the  relations  and  dependen- 
cies between  the  beginning  and  the  end;  when 
we  can  do  this,  or  but  a  part  of  this,  then  shall 
we  be  fitted  to  perceive  how  light  springs  up 


GOD   INCOMPREHENSIBLE.  23 

from  darkness,  and  order  from  confusion,  and 
good  from  ill ;  how  imperfection  ministers  to  per- 
fection, accident  to  certainty,  weakness  to  great- 
ness, and  temporal  sorrow  to  everlasting  bliss; 
—  but  till  then,  let  us  be  humble  in  our  ignorance, 
and  confiding  in  our  devotion  ;  let  us  be  satisfied 
that  He  who  knows  all  things  completely,  will 
order  all  things  wisely,  and  that  we  who  cannot 
comprehend  his  ways,  ought  not  to  elevate  our 
blindness  into  the  judgment-seat  over  them. 

Let  us  only  confine  ourselves  to  ourselves. 
Let  us  consider  how  little  we  know  of  our  own 
structure  and  composition;  how  baffled  we  are 
in  our  endeavors  to  unravel  the  delicate  web  of 
thought ;  how  small  our  authority  is  over  our 
condition ;  how  ignorant  we  are  of  our  lot,  and 
how  uncertain  of  our  life,  and  how  circumscribed 
in  our  mortal  course.  Then  let  us  reflect  that 
the  Maker  knows  us,  who  are  his  workmanship, 
more  thoroughly  than  the  potter  knows  the  vessel 
which  he  turns  off  from  his  wheel.  Let  us  reflect, 
also,  that  with  all  his  creatures,  in  all  his  worlds, 
he  is  equally  as  well  acquainted  as  he  is  with  us. 
Then  let  us  again  attempt  to  go  through  the  mar- 
vellous extent  of  his  creation,  and  again  try  to 
conceive  of  a  God  who  sees  it  all,  at  every  mo- 


24  GOD    INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

ment,  with  one  glance  of  his  omniscience,  and 
governs  it  all  in  the  ubiquity  and  plenitude  of  his 
wisdom,  and  we  shall  be  convinced  how  inade- 
quate we  are  to  enter  further  than  he  may  give  us 
leave  into  the  unsounded  abyss  of  his  counsels. 
"  For  his  thoughts  are  not  our  thoughts,  neither 
are  our  ways  his  ways ;  for  as  the  heavens  are 
higher  than  the  earth,  so  are  his  ways  higher  than 
our  ways,  and  his  thoughts  than  our  thoughts." 
Our  minds  are  indeed  the  inspiration  of  the  Al- 
mighty, but  shall  they  lift  themselves  up  to  cope 
with  the  exhaustless  source  which  inspired  them? 
Shall  they  convert  their  divine  relationship  into 
presumption,  and  pretend  to  scan  aright,  the  stores 
and  treasures  of  their  great  Original  ?  Oh  no  ! 

"  Reason's  brightest  spark, 
Though  kindled  by  thy  light,  in  vain  would  try 
To  traqe  thy  counsels,  infinite  and  dark  ; 
And  thought  is  lost,  ere  thought  can  soar  so  high." 

But  here  we  again  go  back,  and  find  in  what 
amazes  and  awes  our  souls,  their  chief  comfort  and 
consolation.  It  is  because  God  is  so  great,  that 
we  cannot  comprehend  him  ;  and  yet  if  he  were 
not  so  great,  we  could  not  rely  on  him  with  that 
security  of  trust  which  is  our  reasonable  tribute  to 


GOD    INCOMPREHENSIBLE.  25 

perfection.  Our  ignorance  here  becomes,  in  a 
high  and  important  sense,  our  bliss.  If  it  were 
so,  that  with  our  present  constitution  and  powers, 
born  of  the  dust,  and  doomed  to  return  to  the 
dust  again,  we  could  nevertheless  understand  fully 
the  nature  of  the  Supreme,  and  make  ourselves 
masters  of  his  will,  would  not  the  circumstance 
argue  his  finiteness  and  imperfection,  and  diminish 
both  our  veneration  and  our  confidence  ?  But 
with  respect  to  the  eternal,  all-seeing,  and  all- 
pervading  Deity,  this  cannot  be  so.  We  cannot 
comprehend  him.  To  know  this,  is  to  know 
enough;  for  the  very  reason  why  we  know  no 
more,  is  the  reason  why  our  dependence  should 
be  absolute  and  fearless.  Weakness  cannot  com- 
prehend Omnipotence,  but  it  can  lean  upon  it 
securely;  the  finite  cannot  measure  the  Infinite, 
but  it  can  resign  itself  cheerfully  and  unreservedly 
to  its  disposal.  Let  us  make,  therefore,  a  wise 
use  of  our  ignorance ;  let  the  cause  of  doubt  be 
the  origin  of  confidence,  and  confusion  and  amaze- 
ment subside  into  submission  and  quietness. 

Yet  more  we  are  permitted  to  know,  for  our 
encouragement  in  the  Gospel  of  Christ;  to  know 
that  not  eternal  wisdom  alone,  but  infinite  and  im- 
partial love  presides  over  the  universe ;  that  we  are 


26  GOD    INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

in  the  hands  of  a  Father,  who,  with  more  than  an 
earthly  parent's  tenderness  and  solicitude,  provides 
for  the  wants  and  hearkens  to  the  cries  of  all  his 
children.  It  is  revealed  to  us,  moreover,  that  as 
our  knowledge,  so  our  very  being  also  is  in  its  in- 
fancy ;  that  in  a  future  state  of  being,  our  know- 
ledge will  be  active  and  progressive ;  new  light 
poured  upon  its  way,  new  energy  given  to  its 
wings ;  that  much  which  here  has  seemed  dark, 
will  there  be  made  plain ;  that  God  will  manifest 
himself  more  fully  to  our  comprehension ;  and  that 
love  will  rise  with  rising  intelligence,  for  ever 
glowing  and  increasing  in  the  presence  of  God, 
and  the  fulness  of  joy  which  is  at  his  right  hand. 

OCTOBER  1,  1826. 


SERMON  III. 


GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

GOD  HATH  SPOKEN  ONCE  ;   TWICE  HAVE  I  HEARD  THIS  ;  THAT  POWER 
BELONGETH   UNTO   GOD.  —  Psalm  Ixii.    11. 

WHEN  the  mind  goes  forth  amidst  the  works  of 
nature  and  the  broad  ranges  of  the  universe,  the 
first  impression  which  it  receives  is  that  of  power. 
Things  are  presented  to  it  in  grand  masses,  and  it 
is  not  till  after  some  time  that  it  contracts  itself  to 
examine  them  in  detail.  Everywhere  about  us 
there  is  height,  and  depth,  and  expanse,  and 
grandeur,  and  fulness ;  and  of  all  these,  power  is 
the  ever-present  and  ever-speaking  attribute.  The 
sky  with  its  all-enclosing  dome  ;  the  splendid  sun ; 
the  glittering  company  of  stars;  the  sweeping 
clouds;  the  broad-based,  solemn  mountains;  the 
far  off  horizon ;  the  wide,  resounding  sea,  wear 
the  constant  expression  of  power.  All  the  most 
common  and  apparent  things,  which  the  most  di- 
rectly and  incessantly  press  upon  our  notice,  are 


28  GOD    ALL-POWERFUL. 

the  most  vast  and  powerful.  Beside  the  objects 
already  mentioned,  there  is  space  which  is  bound- 
less, and  time  which  is  incessant  and  endless,  and 
the  air  which  wraps  up  the  globe  of  the  world, 
with  all  its  inhabitants  and  contents,  all  pro- 
claiming the  word  of  power,  and  exciting  the 
idea  of  power. 

But  whose  power  is  it  ?  for  we  perceive  not  only 
power,  but  designing  power.  Where  did  it  come 
from  ?  for  when  we  look  on  the  great  streams,  we 
inquire  for  their  source.  Who  can  go  out  in  the 
hushed  and  serious  time  of  night,  and  raise  his  re- 
gards to  the  spangled  firmament,  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  each  point  of  light  there  is  a  ponderous 
world,  steadfast  in  itself  and  in  its  relations  to  the 
great  whole,  and  that  those  of  them  which  are 
moving,  are  moving  with  a  velocity  which  con- 
founds thought,  and  yet  with  a  certainty  of  revo- 
lution which  can  be  calculated  to  a  second  ;  who, 
when  the  winds  are  abroad,  making  the  ocean  to 
rage  mightily,  can  view  the  tumult  from  the  shore, 
conscious  of  his  own  safety,  and  that  bounds  are 
appointed  to  the  threatening  waves,  which  they 
cannot  pass ;  who  can  observe  the  travelling 
clouds  pouring  out  their  showers  as  they  are 
needed  upon  the  grateful  earth ;  who  can  mark 


GOD   ALL-POWERFUL.  29 

the  seasons  as  they  come  round  in  punctual  and 
yet  ever- varying  return  ;  —  who  can  see  and  un- 
derstand such  things,  and  refuse  entrance  to  the 
conviction  that  they  were  intended;  that  there  is 
a  purpose  at  work  in  them  and  over  them ;  that 
these  operations  are  directed  by  some  intelligent 
existence ;  that  there  is  some  controlling  and  de- 
signing being  to  whom  all  this  power  belongs? 

"  It  belongs  to  the  things  themselves,"  is  the 
discordant  cry  of  a  few,  and  happily  but  of  a  few. 
"  The  power  is  in  the  machine  itself.  The  uni- 
verse is  god,  its  own  god.  Why  pretend  to  look 
further  than  you  can  see  1  Use  your  senses,  which 
are  the  only  means  of  knowledge.  Be  not  super- 
stitious, and  concern  not  yourself  about  a  being 
who  does  not  exist,  because  the  senses  do  not 
apprehend  him."  Well  then,  I  will  use  my  senses, 
since  that  is  the  word.  I  will  go  to  them  obse- 
quiously, and  implore  them  to  let  me  know  where 

* 

the  intelligence  is,  whose  designs  are  everywhere 
around  me.  They  can  tell  me  nothing.  I  look, 
and  I  see  nothing,  I  hearken,  and  I  hear  nothing, 
I  reach  forth  my  hands,  and  I  feel  nothing,  in  the 
whole  congregation  of  material  existences,  which 
appears  to  me  to  possess  mind  and  intelligence  of 
itself.  In  the  clods  beneath  me  I  perceive  no  self- 


30  GOD  ALL-POWERFUL. 

governing  wisdom;  in  the  stars  above  me  I  perceive 
no  spirit  of  order ;  in  the  waves  of  ocean  I  am 
apprized  of  no  ruling  mind.  I  see,  I  hear,  I  feel 
nothing  in  matter,  like  a  planning,  organizing,  di- 
recting principle ;  and  that  is  the  very  reason  why 
I  believe  that  there  is  such  a  principle,  or  Being, 
separate  from  matter  and  superior  to  it.  For  one 
thing  I  do  perceive,  and  that  is  design  ;  of  one 
thing  I  am  certain,  and  that  is,  that  there  is  some- 
where a  mind  intently  at  work  ;  the  proofs  of  in- 
tention are  too  plain  to  be  mistaken ;  arid  therefore 
when  I  use  my  senses,  as  I  am  requested  to  do, 
and  receive  no  information  from  them  that  matter 
can  rule  itself,  I  form  the  direct  conclusion  from 
this  silence  and  negative  evidence  of  my  senses, 
that  there  is  a  Being,  a  Supreme  Being  who  rules 
it ;  for  sure  I  am  that  it  is  ruled.  I  will  not  be  so 
superstitious,  therefore,  as  to  believe  in  the  con- 
tradiction of  an  unintelligent  system  acting  of  itself 
intelligently.  I  am  advised  not  to  be  credulous. 
I  will  not  be.  I  will  admit  nothing  but  on  fair 
proof.  Because  my  senses  show  me  no  visible, 
audible,  tangible  intelligence,  I  shall  not  there- 
fore believe  that  there  is  no  intelligence,  but  the 
very  reverse,  that  there  is  one;  one  whom  the 
senses  cannot  show  me,  one  whom  I  cannot  see, 


GOD   ALL-POWERFUL.  31 

nor  hear,  nor  feel,  except  in  the  wise  and  beau- 
tiful order  of  the  universe,  and  in  the  beatings 
of  my  heart ;  one  who  is  invisible,  inaudible,  in- 
tangible, but  to  the  eye  of  my  mind,  and  the  ear 
of  my  spirit,  and  the  demonstrations  of  my  reason. 
In  following  my  senses,  therefore,  I  am  brought  to 
my  God ;  because  they  show  me  design,  and  can- 
not show  me  the  designer.  Now  it  is  that  the 
dumb  works  of  nature  break  their  silence,  and 
utter  speech  of  their  creator  and  of  mine.  Now 
it  is  that  the  mountains  echo  to  the  sea,  and  earth 
repeats  to  heaven,  the  holy  name  of  Him  who  or- 
dains their  order  and  rules  their  motions.  Now  it 
is  that  their  voice  becomes  the  voice  of  God  him- 
self, proclaiming  and  reiterating  his  divine  su- 
premacy. "  God  hath  spoken  once;  twice  have 
I  heard  this  ;  that  power  belongeth  unto  God." 

But  it  is  not  in  the  surrounding  universe  alone, 
that  the  believer  perceives  the  power  of  God.  He 
delights  to  trace  it  throughout  the  course  of  his 
own  being,  and  in  all  that  concerns  his  own  gov- 
ernment and  welfare,  and  the  lives  and  welfare  of 
his  brethren. 

I.  He  sees  this  power,  in  the  first  place,  in  his 
life.  What  but  Almighty  power  brought  him  into 
existence  ?  What  but  Almighty  power  is  equal  to 


32  GOD   ALL-POWERFUL. 

the  creation  of  a  living  soul?  What  but  the 
breath  of  the  Original  Spirit  could  breathe  into  us, 
or  anything,  the  breath  of  life.  We  are  used  to 
go  about  carelessly,  and  eat  and  drink,  and  pursue 
our  business  or  pleasure,  and  hold  converse  with 
our  friends  and  the  world,  without  reflecting  on 
the  exertion  of  power  which  brought  us  here,  and 
caused  our  pulses  to  beat  and  our  affections  to 
glow,  and  our  minds  to  enter  on  the  wonderful 
train  of  their  operations.  But  if  we  consider  the 
subject  with  a  proper  degree  of  attention,  we  shall 
be  struck  with  amazement  at  the  power  which 
gave  us  life,  and  which  is  the  origin  of  all  our  own 
powers.  What  power  can  compare  with  this  of 
creation  1  What  might  is  there,  but  that  of  God, 
which  can  set  in  motion  the  living  economy  of 
one  human  being  1  And  here  we  are,  my  friends, 
in  the  midst  of  millions  and  millions  of  brethren, 
who  have  all  received  life  from  the  same  almighty 
and  ever-quickening  source,  standing  in  our  place 
among  the  generations  which  have  been  flowing 
down  from  the  first  human  family,  and  are  flow- 
ing on  into  the  depths  of  uncertain  time.  What 
an  exhibition  of  power  is  this  vast  sum  of  life, 
existing,  as  it  does,  independently  of  those  who 
live;  offered  to  us,  forced  upon  us,  to  say  so 


GOD   ALL-POWERFUL.  33 

reverently,  without  an  exertion  or  volition  of  our 
own. 

If  the  beginning,  the  gift,  the  original  impulse 
of  life,  is  the  expression  of  divine  power,  so  is  its 
continuance.  How  are  we  urged  forward  through 
the  several  stages  of  our  being,  on  to  its  final 
goal !  The  body  grows,  and  the  mind  grows,  to 
a  certain  point,  and  then  we  stop,  and  then  we 
wear  out  and  decay  —  and  all  this  by  no  effort  or 
participation  of  our  own ;  for  who  can  add  a 
cubit  to  his  stature,  or  who  can  take  one  away  ? 
We  rise  up  the  hill,  and  the  mightiest  among  us 
cannot  accelerate  his  ascent ;  and  then  we  turn 
and  descend  into  the  vale,  and  the  mightiest 
among  us  cannot  retard  his  going  down.  A  con- 
queror may,  if  God  permit  him,  overrun  king- 
doms, and  destroy  cities,  or  build  them  up,  and 
he  may  compel  his  fellow  men  to  lay  their  heads 
in  humble  vassalage  upon  his  footstool,  but  yet 
he  cannot  keep  himself  from  growing  old.  We 
are  very  proud  sometimes ;  and  we  talk  boast- 
fully of  what  we  have  done,  and  what  we  intend 
to  do;  but  when  gray  hairs  are  scattered  over 
our  foreheads,  we  cannot  bring  the  youthful  color 
to  their  roots  again  ;  and  when  the  mists  of  age 
begin  to  fall  over  the  delicate  orbs  of  sight,  we 

3 


34  GOD   ALL-POWERFUL. 

find  that  with  all  our  strength  we  cannot  brush 
those  little  mists  away.  Forward  and  upward, 
and  still  forward,  but  downward,  we  are  borne 
along,  and  we  should  strive  as  fruitlessly  to  resist 
the  hand  which  impels  us,  as  to  check  the  flow- 
ing, or  hinder  the  ebbing  tides. 

Also  in  the  events  of  our  lives,  as  well  as  in 
their  continuance,  we  acknowledge  a  power  in 
operation  which  is  far  greater  than  our  own,  and 
which  can  only  belong  to  the  Supreme  Disposer. 
Liberty  we  have,  indeed,  and  power  we  are 
entrusted  with,  but  we  cannot  fail  to  perceive 
that  our  liberty  and  our  power  have  their  limits, 
beyond  which  they  are  not  suffered  to  go.  Else 
why  are  we  so  often  disappointed  in  our  expecta- 
tions, and  defeated  in  our  designs,  and  overthrown 
in  our  enterprises,  and  why  is  that  which  is  done 
against  our  intentions  and  efforts,  so  often  better  for 
us  than  that  would  have  been  which  we  intended 
and  strove  to  do  ?  Where  are  the  hopes  which 
we  had  been  carefully  building  up  for  the  habitation 
of  future  years?  Has  not  the  wind  of  the  Lord 
come  and  blown  them  away  ?  And  are  not  dwell- 
ings often  provided  for  us,  of  firmer  materials  and 
a  more  excellent  beauty,  to  the  erection  of  which 
we  have  contributed  neither  labor  nor  thought  ? 


GOD   ALL-POWERFUL.  65 

We  cannot  help  feeling  that  we  are  free;  hut  as 
little  can  we  help  feeling  that  our  freedom  is  fre- 
quently bounded  and  controlled  and  directed  by 
one  whose  right  it  is  to  rule.  Nor  can  we  resist 
the  acknowledgment  that  the  power  which  we 
most  justly  call  our  own,  is,  at  its  origin,  derived ; 
and  that  we  can  do  nothing  which  the  Almighty 
does  not  enable  us  to  do,  either  by  immediate 
help,  or  by  the  original  endowment  of  our  ability. 
We  shall  be  disposed,  in  fine,  to  confess  and  adore 
the  presence  of  divine  power  in  all  that  befalls 
us ;  in  the  beginning  and  continuance  of  life,  in 
strength  and  weakness,  in  growth  and  decay,  in 
circumstances  prosperous  or  adverse,  in  rejoicing 
and  mourning,  in  what  is  given  and  what  is  de- 
nied and  what  is  taken  away,  in  what  we  are 
permitted  and  assisted  to  do,  and  what  we  are 
held  from  doing.  In  every  condition,  and  under 
every  posture  of  affairs,  we  shall  perceive  the 
same  unvarying  superintendence,  and  be  ready 
to  say  with  the  Psalmist,  "  God  hath  spoken  once ; 
twice  have  I  heard  this;  that  power  belongeth 
unto  God." 

II.  In  yet  another  way  connected  with  our 
own  being,  do  we  hear  the  declaration  of  the  text. 
We  hear  it  in  the  mysterious  accents  of  life ;  we 


60  GOD   ALL-POWERFUL. 

hear  it  too  in  the  no  less  mysterious,  and  to  many 
the  very  fearful  event  of  death.  Here  again  is 
power ;  the  power  which  suspends  the  motions 
which  it  caused,  which  dissolves  the  complicated 
workmanship  which  it  organized,  which  chills  the 
warm  functions  of  vitality,  and  says  to  its  creatures 
whom  it  formed  of  the  dust,  "  Return,  ye  children 
of  men !  "  We  are  not  apt  to  be  much  impressed 
with  the  majesty  of  death,  because  it  is  of  such 
common  occurrence,  but  the  truth  is  that  disso- 
lution is  as  wonderful  as  creation.  We  call  it 
natural,  because  it  constantly  takes  place ;  but  the 
power  which  seals  up  the  avenues  of  sense,  sends 
away  the  speech,  the  feeling,  and  the  thoughts 
from  their  accustomed  tenement,  and  crushes  up 
a  breathing,  firm,  erect,  proportioned  frame  into  a 
few  grains  of  fine  dust,  is  a  mighty  power,  a  power 
which  can  only  belong  unto  God.  How  certain, 
how  irresistible  is  this  power!  Men  are  contin- 
ually striving  to  elude  it,  and  protract  their  term 
of  life,  but  they  strive  in  vain ;  and  as  if  to  prove 
to  them  that  life  is  never  in  their  own  hands  for  a 
moment,  the  power  of  death  comes  upon  them  at 
every  moment,  from  the  period  of  birth  on  to  the 
undefined  boundary  of  extreme  old  age.  How 
universal  is  this  power !  Generation  after  genera- 


GOD   ALL-POWERFUL.  37 

tion  occupies  the  world,  and  then  is  swept  away. 
A  few  names,  a  few  deeds,  a  few  monuments 
remain  in  each,  and  come  down  to  its  successors 
like  dreams  of  a  past  night,  and  all  the  rest, 
together  with  every  breath  of  life,  are  clean  swept 
away.  If  it  was  not  for  the  divine  power  of  life 
which  more  than  supplies  the  vacancies  occasioned 
by  the  divine  power  of  death,  how  silent  the 
earth  would  be  in  a  little  while  !  One  by  one  we 
should  lie  down  and  be  still,  and  the  sounds  of 
humanity  would  grow  more  and  more  faint,  till  at 
last  they  would  be  all  hushed,  and  nothing  would 
disturb  the  silence  but  the  sighing  of  the  winds, 
and  the  whispering  of  the  trees,  and  the  moans  of 
the  solitary  sea.  Is  not  here  the  impression  of 
power?  And  should  it  be  less,  because  such 
power  is  accompanied  by  a  poxver  of  creation  and 
animation,  which  keeps  the  world  full,  and  active, 
and  resounding  with  the  articulate  voices  of  men? 
Truly  the  power  of  death  is  great  and  awful,  and 
it  belongs  only  unto  God. 

III.  And  terrible  and  oppressive  would  the 
thought  of  that  power  be,  if  we  were  not  assured, 
both  by  the  character  of  the  Almighty,  and  his 
revealed  word  in  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  that  as 
easily  and  as  surely  as  he  exercises  the  power  of 


38  GOD   ALL-POWERFUL. 

life  and  death,  so  easily  and  so  surely  will  he  put 
forth  the  power  of  reanimation.  "  Why  should  it 
be  thought  a  thing  incredible  with  you,"  said  Paul 
to  Agrippa,  "  that  God  should  raise  the  dead?" 
It  is  not  incredible  at  all,  that  he  who  causes  us  to 
live,  and  causes  us  to  die,  should  also  cause  us  to 
live  again.  The  power  of  restoring  life  is  not 
even  wonderful,  when  compared  with  the  power 
of  giving  it,  and  the  power  of  taking  it  away,  and 
the  other  exertions  of  the  power  of  God.  But  as 
they  are  wonderful,  so  also  is  this,  and  it  appears 
to  us  more  wonderful,  because-  it  is  not  like  those 
others,  the  subject  of  our  experience.  And  those 
others  are  the  subjects  of  our  experience  only  as 
we  see  them  and  are  affected  by  them,  and  not 
as  if  we  knew  their  essence  or  were  acquainted 
with  their  modes  of  interior  operation.  If  we  will 
abstract  ourselves  for  a  while  from  the  passing 
scene ;  if  we  will  cause  our  minds  to  stand  apart 
from  the  crowd  of  things  in  which  they  familiarly 
and  habitually  move,  so  that  instead  of  being  borne 
along  with  them  unthinkingly,  they  may,  as  spec- 
tators, look  regardfully  upon  them,  and  seriously 
contemplate  them  ;  —  and  if  we  will  cease  for  a 
while  to  talk  of  nature,  and  reflect  on  the  agencies 
and  existences  which  are  about  us  as  really  the 


GOD    ALL-POWERFUL.  39 

work  of  nature's  God  —  then  the  combinations  and 
changes  of  the  atmosphere,  light,  heat,  motion,  the 
wing  of  an  insect,  the  leaf  of  a  plant  —  everything 
will  seem  to  us,  and  truly,  to  demand  divine  power, 
and  envelope  a  divine  mystery,  as  well  as  does  the 
immortality  of  the  soul.  But  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  the  future  life,  is  a  subject  which  concerns 
us  more  deeply  than  any  other  can,  and  is  a  sub- 
ject which  is  removed  from  the  cognizance  of  our 
senses,  and  our  common  and  daily  habits,  and 
therefore  it  especially  awes  and  excites  the  mind 
which  is  brought  into  communion  with  it.  That 
it  does  awe  and  excite  the  mind,  is  however,  no 
proof  that  it  is  more  wonderful  in  itself,  than  many 
of  those  things  concerning  which  we  never  wonder, 
except  when  we  think  upon  them  intently. 

Proof  of  man's  immortality  is  to  be  sought  for  in 
considerations  of  the  character  of  God,  the  nature 
of  man,  the  promises  and  facts  of  the  gospel,  and 
the  evidences  of  that  gospel's  truth.  In  these 
we  are  to  seek  assurances  —  and  if  we  seek  in 
a  right  spirit  we  shall  find  them  —  that  God  will 
exercise  the  power  of  reanimating  or  continuing 
the  life  of  the  human  soul.  That  he  can  exercise 
it,  that  it  is  not  for  his  hand  an  extraordinary 
power  seems  to  be  unquestionable ;  for  he  who 


40  GOD   ALL-POWERFUL. 

can  direct  the  least  of  those  agencies  which  we  see 
about  us.  can  prevent  the  human  soul  from  sharing 
in  the  death  of  the  body,  or  confer  life,  with  all  its 
attributes,  on  the  smallest  particles  of  a  former 
organization. 

Once,  twice,  have  we  heard  the  solemn  assever- 
ation, that  power  belongeth  unto  God.  There  are 
also  other  words  succeeding,  which  are  full  of 
encouragement,  motive,  and  consolation.  "  And 
also  unto  thee,  O  Lord,  belongeth  mercy,  for  thou 
renderest  unto  every  man  according  to  his  work." 
Infinite  power  and  infinite  mercy  are  lodged  in  the 
same  hands,  never  to  be  divided,  never  to  be 
alienated.  O  then  that  we  may  so  order  our 
works  and  ways  before  him,  that  we  may  render 
ourselves  fit  objects  of  his  mercy,  and  feel  hope 
and  confidence,  instead  of  fear,  when  we  contem- 
plate his  power  j  —  that  same  hope  and  confidence 
which  inspired  the  breast  of  the  apostle,  when  he 
said,  "  I  am  persuaded  that  neither  death  nor  life, 
nor  angels,  nor  principalities,  nor  powers,  nor 
things  present,  nor  things  to  come,  will  ever  be 
able  to  separate  me  from  the  love  of  God,  which  is 
in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord." 

OCTOBER  25,  1829. 


SERMON  IV. 

GOD    THE    GUARDIAN    OF    SOULS. 

BEHOLD,   ALL  SOULS   ARE   MINE. —  Ezek.    iviii.    4. 

THE  Supreme  Spirit  speaks  of  the  spirits  which  he 
has  created.  The  Maker  declares  himself  con- 
cerning the  intelligent  beings  whom  he  has  made. 
He  claims  his  right  in  them,  and  over  them,  as  his 
own.  He  is  anxious  to  gain  their  attention  to  this 
claim ;  not  that  it  can  be  resisted,  but  because  it 
is  full  of  the  most  solemn  conclusions,  and  he 
would  have  it  felt  and  pondered,  and  not  neglect- 
ed. Therefore  he  calls  to  us,  that  our  ears  may  be 
opened  and  our  hearts  awakened.  He  says,  "Be- 
hold !  "— "  Behold  !  "  says  the  Almighty  Father 
to  his  children,  "  all  souls  are  mine." 

This  voice  of  God  in  revelation,  is  not  the  only 
one  by  which  his  claim  to  our  souls  is  preferred. 
Our  own  convictions,  when  we  contemplate  the 
vast  and  momentous  subject,  confirm  in  deep  so- 


42        GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS. 

lemnity  the  revealed  word,  and  show  to  us  with 
irresistible  proof,  that  we  belong  not  to  ourselves, 
but  to  one  who  made  us,  and  who  alone  searches 
and  knows  us.  The  sense  of  our  own  weakness, 
the  sense  of  our  own  ignorance,  has  each  a  voice, 
which  tells  us  of  an  ownership  above  us.  And 
consciousness,  which  makes  known  to  us  the  power 
and  liberty  which  we  have,  mark  out  to  us  the 
bounds  within  which  that  power  and  liberty  are 
confined,  and  intimates  to  us  by  some  of  the  most 
striking  signs  of  our  being  and  condition,  how  en- 
tirely dependent  we  are  on  a  will  which  we  cannot 
control,  and  on  designs  and  determinations  which 
we  cannot  fathom. 

Let  any  one  turn  his  thoughts  inward,  and  think 
of  that  mysterious  essence  within  him  which 
thinks  ;  let  him  meditate  upon  the  soul  which  he 
calls  his  own;  and  let  him  say  how  far  it  is  his 
own.  It  is  his  own  in  some  respects,  but  in  no 
respect  which  implies  supreme  and  absolute  pos- 
session. It  is  his  own  to  vindicate  against  the 
undue  influence  and  authority  of  all  human  beings 
and  all  earthly  things.  It  is  his  own  to  keep  from 
defilement ;  to  guard  from  the  entrance  of  sin  ;  to 
cultivate  and  improve  by  the  use  of  privileges 
and  the  application  of  circumstances ;  to  bring  into 


GOD    THE    GUARDIAN   OF   SOULS.  43 

a  willing  subjection  to  the  Father  of  spirits,  con- 
formity with  his  purposes,  and  imitation  of  his 
perfections ;  to  prepare,  through  the  mercy  and 
help  of  God,  for  its  happy  reception  into  the  heav- 
enly world  which  is  promised.  In  these  respects, 
and  they  are  important  ones,  his  soul  belongs  to 
himself.  But  these  imply  no  independent  author- 
ity, no  self-derived  and  original  dominion.  They 
imply  a  trust  only,  to  be  fulfilled  or  neglected,  to 
be  used  or  abused.  The  power  and  the  liberty  go 
no  further.  The  soul  of  that  man  is  his  own  in 
trust.  He  holds,  that  is  to  say,  himself  in  trust, 
and  by  no  power  of  his  own.  He  feels  that  his 
whole  being  is  dependent  on  some  other  being, 
which  being  can  only  be  the  Self-Existent.  He 
feels  that  the  possession  of  himself  is  not  in  him- 
self; that  he  is  not  his  own,  but  God's. 

He  communes  with  himself  thus  :  What  am  1 1 
What  is  this  thinking,  sentient,  active  principle 
or  being  which  is  my  soul,  myself?  What  is  its 
nature?  What  its  composition?  How  was  it 
made  ?  How  did  it  begin  to  be  ?  I  know  that  I 
am.  I  am  conscious  that  my  soul  lives.  But 
what  is  my  soul,  and  how  does  it  live  ?  This  I 
know  not,  and  am  conscious  that  I  cannot  know. 
It  seems  to  me  as  if  my  soul  existed  in  some  dark 


44        GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS. 

and  impenetrable  depth,  showing  itself  faintly, 
as  it  were,  by  a  few  outward  signs  upon  the  sur- 
face of  its  dwelling-place,  but  deeper  than  this 
wrapt  up  from  even  its  own  searchings.  I  am 
not  insignificant.  I  can  call  up  the  past.  I  can 
interrogate  the  future.  I  can  visit  infinite  heights 
and  depths.  I  can  long  for  glory  and  joy  which 
are  unknown  and  afar.  My  soul  is  a  wondrous 
existence,  and  worthy  to  be  known,  and  must  be 
known ;  — but  I  know  it  not ;  it  knows  not  itself. 
How  can  I  be  the  absolute  owner  of  that  which  I 
do  not  know  ?  The  creating  and  eternal  Intel- 
lect knows  me,  and  owns  me.  My  soul  is  his. 
All  souls  are  his. 

And  I  am  confident,  such  an  one  may  say, 
that  this  my  ignorance,  which  happily  places 
me  in  the  hands  of  the  All-wise,  is  not  an  igno- 
rance peculiar  to  myself.  I  am  confident  that  it  is 
common  to  all  men.  Let  the  doubter  doubt  as 
much,  and  the  free-thinker  think  as  freely,  or 
what  is  often  the  same  thing  with  him,  as  licen- 
tiously as  he  will,  yet  their  ignorance  of  the  man- 
ner of  their  own  being,  is  a  truth  which  they 
cannot  deny.  Neither  can  they  deny  that  they 
are,  -and  that  they  think.  Consciousness  obliges 
them  to  confess  that  they  have  souls ;  but  with 


GOD   THE   GUARDIAN   OF    SOULS.  45 

all  their  pretended  wisdom,  they  cannot  explain 
what  their  souls  are,  nor  assume  the  actual  pos- 
session of  them  to  themselves.  They  may  talk 
as  they  please,  but  they  must  feel  sometimes  in 
the  power  of  One  who  made  them  and  owns 
them,  who  knows  them  and  judges  them.  Their 
ignorance  cannot  always  make  them  bold  and 
Heaven-defying.  It  must  sometimes  lead  them, 
as  mine  leads  me,  to  the  feet  of  Him  who  knows 
us,  and  to  whom  therefore  we  must  belong. 

This  soul  of  mine  !  I  cannot  express  rny  sense 
of  the  mysteriousness  which  envelopes  it,  and 
the  entire  dependence  in  which  it  hangs  every 
moment  on  its  Creator.  Is  it  of  its  essence  and 
mode  of  being  only  that  I  am  ignorant?  What 
do  I  know  of  its  course,  its  path,  the  changes  of 
its  condition,  the  varieties  of  its  lot  ?  Do  I  know 
with  any  precision  what  motives  will  be  present- 
ed to  it  at  any  future  season  ?  Do  I  know  what 
trials  await  it?  what  joys  or  what  sorrows  are  in 
store  for  it?  what  voices  will  speak  to  it?  Can 
I  anoint  its  eyes,  so  that  it  shall  be  able  to  behold 
one  secret  of  coming  time?  Can  I  tell  when  it 
will  be  summoned  to  part  from  the  body  ?  Have 
I  the  least  power  over  its  very  existence?  Were 
the  sentence  of  dread  annihilation  to  be  issued 


46        GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS. 

against  it,  could  I  do  the  least  thing  to  arrest  that 
sentence?  Could  I  say,  It  shall  not  die?  Or 
have  I  the  power  of  annihilation  over  it,  so  that 
I  can  say,  It  shall  not  live?  Who  is  so  vain,  so 
mad,  as  to  assert  that  he  possesses  either  of  these 
powers?  How  absolutely  we  belong  to  God  ! 

This  soul  of  mine !  The  more  I  think  of  it, 
the  less  seems  to  be  my  authority  over  it.  A 
large  portion  of  its  existence  while  here  on  earth, 
is  passed  in  that  inscrutable  state  of  sleep ;  or,  if 
it  be  denied  that  the  soul  ever  sleeps,  in  that  state, 
still  inscrutable,  which  it  occupies  while  the  body 
sleeps.  My  body  must  sleep.  Life  would  depart 
from  it,  if  it  did  not  sleep.  Its  powers  must  be 
refreshed  by  slumber,  and  so,  while  the  mind  con- 
tinues its  companion,  must  the  powers  of  the 
mind  be  so  refreshed.  I  cannot  therefore  prevent 
the  change  which  passes  over  the  soul,  and  re- 
mains upon  it,  periodically,  and  for  a  large  por- 
tion of  my  mortal  life.  And  while  my  body  is 
sleeping,  where  is  my  soul,  and  what  power  have 
I  over  it?  Perhaps  it  wanders  back  to  the  days 
of  my  childhood,  and  converses  face  to  face  with 
those  from  whom  I  am  divided  by  half  the  world's 
circumference,  or  by  the  grave.  And  then  sud- 
denly it  will  be  on  the  tops  of  mountains,  or  in 


GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS.       47 

pathless  forests,  or  in  vaulted  and  interminable 
caves,  or  in  strange,  twilight,  indescribable  scenes, 
holding  disjointed  and  unintelligible  language 
with  itself,  or  with  shadowy  beings  for  whom 
there  is  no  name.  But  wherever  it  is,  or  what- 
ever it  is  doing,  as  soon  as  I  awake,  it  returns  to 
me,  and  is  restored  from  its  change,  —  a  change 
incomprehensible  to  me,  to  itself.  I  hold  no  clue 
to  its  goings.  I  often  understand  not  where  it 
has  been,  and  endeavor,  in  vain,  to  unravel  the 
ideas  which  have  occupied  it;  and  often  lam 
unable  to  tell  whether  it  has  or  has  not  been 
active  during  this  interval  of  sleep.  Memory  pre- 
sents me  with  no  object  on  its  mirror.  Conscious- 
ness is  silent.  How  entirely  am  I  out  of  my  own 
power  in  sleep.  Who  holds  me  during  those  misty 
hours  ?  Watchman  of  Israel !  who  never  slumber- 
est  nor  sleepest,  thou  compassest  my  path  and  my 
lying  down;  thou  art  the  guardian  of  my  soul 
while  my  tired  head  is  on  the  pillow,  and  my  judg- 
ment, like  an  over- wearied  sentinel,  is  drooping  un- 
consciously at  its  post ;  thou  knowest  the  way  that 
I  take  when  I  know  it  not  myself,  and  when  I 
awake,  I  am  still  with  thee  !  How  can  a  man, 
who  will  reflect  a  moment  on  these  perpetually 
recurring  periods  of  sleep,  fail  to  be  struck  and 


48        GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS. 

affected  by  the  view  of  the  helplessness  of  his 
soul  in  those  periods,  its  need  of  protection,  the 
kindness  and  constancy  which  are  necessary  to 
its  protection  ?  How  can  a  man  think  of  sleep, 
without  being  impressed  seriously  and  religious- 
ly; without  feeling  that  his  soul  is  God's? 

This  soul  of  mine  !  or  which  I  call  mine,  and 
yet  is  mine  so  imperfectly !  it  now  performs  its 
functions  regularly  and  connectedly.  In  my 
waking  hours,  and  when  its  sight  is  undimmed 
by  passion  or  by  sin,  it  perceives  objects  clearly, 
or  with  such  clearness  as  this  earthly  atmosphere 
allows ;  it  exercises  its  reasoning  powers,  such  as 
they  may  be,  with  order  and  distinctness  ;  it  holds 
an  acknowledged  intercourse  with  other  souls. 
But  how  long  will  it  certainly  maintain  this 
sound  estate?  I  may  guard  it,  it  is  my  given 
duty  to  guard  it,  against  some  of  the  causes  of 
derangement,  which  I  may  ward  off  by  vigilance, 
by  temperance,  by  self-discipline ;  but  how  can  I 
guard  it,  against  many  other  causes,  visible  and 
invisible,  which  may  come  upon  it  unawares, 
and  destroy  its  balance,  and  confuse  its  opera- 
tions, and  strike  its  whole  fabric  into  tangled  dis- 
arrangement ?  A  wound  in  the  body,  or  in  itself; 
a  blow  on  the  head,  or  a  sorrow  in  the  heart ;  a 


GOD    THE    GUARDIAN   OF    SOULS.  49 

violent  fever ;  a  gradual  and  insurmountable  de- 
clension ;  or  some  influence  altogether  unknown 
and  unsearchable,  may  surprise  this  soul  of  mine, 
and  cut  it  off  from  rational  communication  with 
mankind.  I  may  pray  that  its  sanity  may  be 
preserved  amid  all  these  dangers j  but  I  cannot 
assure  myself  that  it  will  be.  I  can  enter  into  no 
engagement  with  my  soul,  to  secure  it  against 
them.  I  should  only  mock  it  were  I  to  do  so. 
The  condition  from  which  it  shrinks,  may  be  its 
own,  as  it  has  been  that  of  other  men.  And 
should  it  be,  who  will  hold  it,  keep  it,  sustain  it, 
when  the  little  authority  that  I  ever  had  over  it, 
is  taken  away  ?  How  dark  seems  the  darkness  ! 
how  sad  the  wandering  of  mental  derangement ! 
And  yet  there  is  a  ray  of  light  amidst  the  deepest 
gloom,  and  the  sound  of  a  comforting  voice  in  the 
most  intricate  windings  of  the  labyrinth.  The 
ray  streams  down  from  heaven,  and  the  voice  is 
that  which  declares,  '•  All  souls  are  mine !  "  All 
souls  are  in  the  hand  of  their  Keeper  and  Defend- 
er. Not  one  is  excepted.  God  preserves  the 
roaming,  irresponsible  soul,  through  all  its  aber- 
rations, and,  notwithstanding  the  outward  signs 
of  loss,  saves  all  its  faculties,  and  permits  not  a 
fraction  of  its  integrity  to  be  dissolved.  Of  this 

4 


50  GOD   THE    GUARDIAN   OF   SOULS. 

truth  he  often  affords  us  the  most  convincing 
proofs.  Often  does  the  soul,  which  has  been 
untuned  for  years,  utter  in  the  last  moments  of 
mortality,  the  clear  notes  of  restoration  and 
praise.  Often  does  the  soul,  which,  for  a  melan- 
choly time  has  seemed  to  be  shattered,  broken 
down  and  undone,  rise  up  just  as  it  is  called  to 
quit  the  infirm  body,  rise  up  in  the  wholeness 
and  freshness  of  former  days,  show  how  safely 
it  has  been  led,  and  held  by  the  Almighty  arm, 
and  then  resign  itself  to  its  God.  So  manifestly 
does  the  Father  of  spirits  vindicate  the  truth  of 
his  declaration,  "All  souls  are  mine."  They 
cannot  stray  from  under  his  eye  ;  they  cannot  be 
lost  from  his  care. 

You  will  perceive  that  what  I  have  said  of  the 
soul's  ignorance  of  itself,  and  weakness  in  and  by 
itself,  clashes  not  at  all  with  what  may  be  urged 
concerning  its  high  powers,  and  the  intimations 
which  it  gives  of  higher  destinies.  The  views  of 
its  infirmity  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  its  dignity  on 
the  other,  are  religious  views,  pointing  to  the  same 
great  result.  Its  hopes,  its  longings,  its  work- 
ings, its  capacity  of  improvement,  its  generous 
affections,  these  show  that  it  is,  and  that  it  is  wor- 
thy to  be  cared  for ;  while  the  want  of  all  know- 


GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS.         51 

ledge  of  its  essential  self,  the  changes  which  come 
over  it  in  spite  of  itself,  its  wanderings,  as  it  were, 
away  from  itself,  all  show  the  necessity  of  its 
being  cared  for  by  some  one  who  is  greater  than 
itself.  My  main  design  has  been  to  prove  that 
the  wants  of  the  soul  direct  it  to  a  Maker  and 
Preserver.  I  have  presented  one  illustration  of 
the  old  position,  "I  am,  and  therefore  God  must 
be."  Not  that  God's  existence  is  dependent  on 
ours  —  God  forbid  the  vain  imagination  —  but 
that  our  existence  is  dependent  on  his,  and  de- 
notes his,  as  that  on  which  it  must  depend.  In 
this  manner  is  exposed  the  fallacy  of  those  who 
pretend  to  say,  that  because  they  are  ignorant  of 
the  soul's  essence,  therefore  it  does  not  exist. 
The  answer  is,  that  consciousness  attests  its  ex- 
istence, and  its  very  ignorance  of  its  own  essence 
attests  its  God.  I  know  not  myself —  and  there- 
fore there  must  be  One  who  knows  me.  I  can- 
not sustain  myself —  and  therefore  there  must  be 
One  who  sustains  me.  Give  your  thoughts  in- 
tently, my  friends,  at  any  time  to  this  subject, 
and  you  will  feel,  with  an  energy  to  which  words 
can  do  no  justice,  that  you  are  depending,  resting, 
every  instant,  upon  your  Maker,  your  God. 
"  Behold !  "  says  the  Eternal,  "  all  souls  are 


52        GOD  THE  GUARDIAN  OF  SOULS. 

mine."  "  Yea  ! "  respond  our  souls,  from  the 
deep  places  of  their  ignorance,  and  with  all  the 
voices  of  their  wants — "Yea!  all  souls  are 
thine?"  Thou  art  their  Father,  Owner,  Keeper. 
The  souls  of  the  lofty  and  the  lowly,  of  the 
wealthy  and  the  poor,  of  the  happy  and  the 
sorrowful —  all  souls  are  thine.  In  the  feebleness 
of  childhood,  and  the  feebleness  of  age ;  in  clouds 
and  darkness,  and  weariness ;  from  the  first  mo- 
ment of  their  existence,  to  the  last  of  their  sojourn 
in  clay  ;  in  their  searchings  after  thee,  and  depart- 
ures from  thee,  and  whether  they  know  thee  or 
know  thee  not,  all  souls  are  thine !  Take  them  — 
they  are  surrendered  to  thee  !  Help  their  weak- 
ness, heal  their  sickness,  enlighten  their  blindness. 
Keep  them  in  the  knowledge  and  love  of  thee,  and 
of  thy  Son.  Let  them  live  in  thy  countenance, 
and  grow  in  thy  grace,  and  find  thy  redeeming 
mercy.  And  raise  them  at  last,  O,  our  God,  from 
these  poor  houses,  to  those  heavenly  courts,  where 
they  shall  know  and  love  thee  more,  and  serve 
and  enjoy  thee  forever  ! 

DECEMBER  6,  1835. 


SERMON  V. 

FOLLY   OF    ATHEISM. 

THE   FOOL  HATH   SAID    IN  HIS  HEART,  THERE  IS  NO  GOD. — Ps.  liv.  1. 

THESE  same  words  commence  also  the  fifty-third 
Psalm,  which  is  almost  an  exact  repetition  of  the 
fourteenth.  They  express  the  sentiment  as 
strongly  as  possible,  that  to  deny  the  being  of 
God,  is  a  demonstration  of  the  want  of  wisdom, 
of  the  abuse  of  intellect,  of  exceeding  folly. 
They  find  an  echo,  commonly,  in  our  own  bo- 
soms. Having  received  the  idea  of  a  God  of  in- 
finite perfection,  and  having  cherished  it  into 
faith,  and  being  deeply  convinced  of  its  unspeak- 
able value,  we  are  amazed  at  the  rejection  of  it 
by  any,  and  at  once  decide  that  such  a  rejection 
is  incompatible  with  soundness  of  mind.  To  us 
it  is  an  idea,  a  conviction,  a  faith,  so  full  of  ma- 
jesty, of  love,  of  hope,  of  power  and  protection, 
so  preeminently  the  light  of  our  mental  and 


54  FOLLY   OF   ATHEISM. 

moral  being,  that  we  would  lose  anything,  suffer 
anything,  rather  than  part  with  it;  and  are  una- 
ble to  believe  that  they  who  renounce  it  and  con- 
tend against  it,  are  in  possession  of  even  a  tolera- 
bly well-guided  understanding. 

It  is  probably  this  feeling  of  the  folly  of  athe- 
istic views,  which  sometimes  renders  us  a  little 
impatient  of  those  discourses  which  aim  to  prove 
the  existence  of  God,  in  refutation  of  atheism, 
especially  if  it  be  by  a  metaphysical  train  of  argu- 
ment. We  say  to  ourselves  that  we  do  not  need 
the  refutation;  that  we  do  not  wish  to  have  the 
existence  of  God  proved  to  us.  We  fear  that 
some  deficiency  of  matter  or  manner,  some  fee- 
bleness of  proof,  some  inaptitude  of  illustration, 
may  do  injustice  to  the  high  theme,  and  yield 
advantage  to  the  adversary  ;  or,  if  we  entertain 
not  this  fear,  we  are  simply  unwilling  to  hear  a 
truth  regularly  demonstrated,  of  which  we  have 
already  the  fullest  conviction,  and  which  we  deem 
it  the  extreme  of  foolishness  or  wickedness  to  de- 
ny. It  seems  to  be  lingering  too  long  in  the  ele- 
ments. 

It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  this  repugnance 
may  itself  become  too  sensitive,  and  be  carried 
too  far.  We  should  be  tolerant  of  the  repetition 


FOLLY   OF   ATHEISM.  55 

of  arguments,  which  may  be  interesting  and 
instructive  to  others,  if  not  to  us,  and  from  which 
we  ourselves,  in  some  former  time,  may  have 
derived  no  small  share  of  the  present  strength  of 
our  convictions.  Though  we  do  not  absolutely 
need  proof  of  the  being  of  God,  yet  it  may  be 
useful  to  dwell  upon  the  steps  of  it  presented  to 
us ;  and  though  nothing  quite  new  may  be  ad- 
vanced in  the  way  of  argument,  yet  something 
may  be  said  which  shall  either  awaken  a  slum- 
bering memory,  or  point  out  a  new  track  for  our 
thoughts,  in  the  way  of  suggestion.  Neither  is  it 
always  the  purpose  of  a  discourse  on  the  being  of 
God,  to  prove  that  being  to  those  who  may  be  in 
doubt  of  it,  but,  quite  as  often  or  oftener,  to  con- 
duct the  meditations  of  the  faithful  over  some 
portion  of  a  subject  which  covers  an  almost  in- 
exhaustible field  of  inquiry  and  reflection,  and 
everywhere  contains  material  of  pious  and  profit- 
able thought. 

But  though  caution  is  to  be  had  in  regulating 
the  repugnance  of  which  I  have  spoken,  it  re- 
mains true  that  it  arises  from  a  sound  conviction 
of  the  folly  of  unbelief,  and  deserves  notice  as  an 
indication  of  its  pure  and  healthy  source.  What 
indeed  can  be  more  senseless  —  and  this  is  the 


56  FOLLY   OF    ATHEISM. 

point  to  which  I  would  now  direct  your  attention 
—  than  the  act  of  denying  the  existence  of  a  Su- 
preme Being,  of  discarding  the  thought  of  an 
Almighty  creator,  disposer,  and  friend?  What 
good  end  can  there  be  proposed  by  it;  what 
satisfaction;  what  reward?  What  is  there  to 
be  gained,  and  what  is  there  not  to  be  lost,  by 
the  prodigal  renunciation  of  faith  in  God  1  This 
is  one  of  the  most  simple  and  practical  views  of 
the  whole  subject.  In  a  moral  aspect,  it  is  the 
test  question.  It  reaches  the  end.  It  touches 
the  moral  and  spiritual  influences  of  religious 
faith. 

What  in  effect  is  the  atheistic  declaration  ?  He 
who  says  that  there  is  no  God,  says,  in  the  first 
place,  not  only  that  there  is  no  creator,  who,  with 
knowledge  and  design  brought  into  existence  and 
set  in  motion  the  whole  scene  of  things  about  us, 
but  that  there  is  no  mind  which  thoroughly 
understands  and  comprehends  this  universe,  and 
penetrates  its  many  mysteries,  and  takes  it  into 
an  omniscient  charge.  If  there  is  no  knowledge 
of  it,  there  can  be  no  charge  of  it.  The  world  is 
uncared  for.  It  is  without  a  ruler,  without  a 
protector.  Is  there  any  wisdom  in  a  supposition 
like  this?  Is  there  anything  pleasant  or  satis- 


FOLLY   OF    ATHEISM.  57 

factory  to  the  mind  or  heart,  to  be  told  that  the 
world  goes  on  by  itself,  and  may  stop  and  fall  to 
pieces  of  itself;  that  there  is  no  one  that  under- 
stands its  numberless  operations,  above  and  be- 
neath, which  produce  such  magnificent  and  beau- 
tiful results;  that  its  mysteries  always  have  been 
and  always  will  be  impenetrable ;  that  it  is  without 
a  governor,  and  without  a  guide  ?  Is  not  the  asser- 
tion as  far  from  wisdom  as  the  east  is  from  the 
west? 

And  then  if  the  world  is  unknown  and  uncared 
for,  it  follows  of  course  that  man  is  unknown 
and  uncared  for  by  a  Supreme  Being.  He  who 
says  that  there  is  no  God,  says  that  he  himself, 
says  that  every  man,  is  without  government, 
without  protection,  without  salvation,  is  in  a  con- 
dition of  solitariness  and  orphanage.  He  says 
that  there  is  no  judge  to  right  the  wronged,  to 
defend  the  cause  of  the  needy  and  oppressed,  to 
restore  the  golden  balance  of  justice  and  truth 
which  has  been  disturbed  by  passion  and  by 
crime.  He  says  that  when  the  spirit  of  a  man  is 
bowed  down  by  calamity,  and  is  deserted  by 
human  sympathy,  there  is  no  one  above  to 
resort  to  for  strength  and  for  sympathy ;  that 
when  it  is  lingering  on  the  last  verge  of  life, 


58  FOLLY   OF   ATHEISM. 

there  is  no  one  to  sustain  and  comfort  it;  and 
when  it  passes  out  of  life,  there  is  no  one  to 
receive  it.  He  says  that  there  is  no  one  to  give 
us  what  the  world  cannot  give,  but  that  all  our 
peace  and  all  our  joy  and  all  our  reward  must  be 
here  or  nowhere,  and  that  when  happiness  departs 
from  us  here,  it  departs  from  us  for  ever.  He 
says  that  the  widow  has  no  Eternal  Friend,  and 
the  orphan  no  Almighty  Father  ;  that  we  are  all 
orphans :  that  there  is  no  paternal  eye  to  watch 
over  us,  and  no  paternal  hand  to  lead  us,  and  no 
paternal  heart  to  feel  for  us,  and  ro  paternal 
home  to  shelter  us  at  last ;  that  we  live  thus  for- 
lorn, and  die  thus  forlorn,  proceeding  from  obli- 
vion, and  returning  to  oblivion  again.  This  is 
what  he  says,  saying  that  there  is  no  God.  Is 
there  any  wisdom  in  the  opinion ;  any  mark  of 
wisdom  about  it  ?  Is  there  anything  elevating, 
or  comforting,  or  edifying  in  it  1  Is  there  any- 
thing in  it  conducive  to  virtue  or  to  any  kind  of 
improvement  ?  Is  it  not  folly,  and  the  height  of 
folly,  to  divest  oneself  of  convictions  of  a  su- 
preme order,  and  a  providential  guidance,  and  a 
parental  and  eternal  love  1  Yet  this  is  the  folly  of 
him  who  says  that  there  is  no  God. 

And  he  says  this,  be  it  further  observed,  not  in 


FOLLY   OF   ATHEISM.  59 

obedience  to  a  confessed  preponderance  of  logical, 
or  any  other  species  of  argument  against  the  exist- 
ence of  God.  No  preponderance  of  the  kind  has 
ever  been  confessed.  On  the  contrary,  the  pre- 
ponderance is  claimed  by  believers  to  be  vastly  on 
their  own  side.  They  rest  not  their  cause  on  feel- 
ing alone,  however  confidently  they  rely  upon  feel- 
ing. They  have  store  of  argument  beside ;  and 
can  match,  out  of  their  armory,  any  weapon  which 
the  adversary  can  produce.  No  argument  against 
the  existence  of  God  has  ever  been  uttered  into  the 
reluctant  world,  which  has  not  been  immediately 
encountered  by  a  stronger  argument  from  the 
ranks  of  the  faithful.  For  every  discourse,  every 
book,  in  favor  of  the  atheistic  hypothesis,  there  are 
scores  of  discourses,  scores  of  books,  in  refutation 
of  it,  and  all  better.  And  this  is  so,  whether  we  go 
into  the  fields  of  metaphysical  speculation,  or  into 
the  varied  regions  of  natural  science.  There  is  a 
line,  indeed,  beyond  which  human  investigation 
cannot  proceed ;  beyond  which  it  cannot  be  said, 
This  is,  or  This  is  not.  But  up  to  this  absolute  line, 
where  all  must  stop  in  a  common  ignorance,  every 
argument  of  unbelief,  from  every  quarter,  has  been 
met  and  answered,  ably,  fairly,  and  completely. 
He,  therefore,  who  says  there  is  no  God,  makes  the 


60  FOLLY    OF    ATHEISM. 

assertion  not  only  in  defiance  of  the  most  prevail- 
ing moral  considerations,  but  in  neglect,  also,  of 
as  powerful  reasoning  as  ever  proceeded  from  the 
combination  of  human  genius  with  human  learn- 
ing. What  unspeakable  folly  !  —  to  sacrifice  hope, 
trust,  protection,  consolation,  without  being  able  to 
say,  that  the  greater  array  of  reason,  or  that  some 
unanswered  argument  compelled  the  sacrifice. 
What  unspeakable  folly  !  —  to  reject  the  sure  staff 
of  support  in  this  world  of  trouble,  without  the 
substitute  of  a  single  deduction  of  science,  which 
has  not  been  proved  unsound,  or  of  a  cold  syllo- 
gism even,  which  has  not  been  broken  in  pieces. 

While  we  are  upon  this  moral  and  practical  view 
of  atheism,  it  may  be  well  to  add,  that  the  folly 
which  has  been  exposed  is  not  in  the  least  dimin- 
ished by  a  denial  of  the  term  atheism,  though  at 
the  same  time  a  theory  is  adopted,  which,  however 
ingenious  it  may  look  as  a  theory,  is  morally  and 
practically  atheistic.  If  an  existence  or  principle 
is  supposed  to  pervade  the  world,  or  be  the  mind 
or  soul  of  the  world,  and  is  invested  with  the  name 
of  God,  but  is  yet  divested  of  the  personal  and 
intelligent  care  and  government  of  the  world,  and 
all  the  creatures  in  it,  then  there  is  no  difference 
whatever,  in  a  moral  and  practical  view,  between 


FOLLY    OF    ATHEISM.  61 

this  impersonal  principle,  called  God,  and  no  God. 
If  the  principle  called  God,  has  no  care  of  or  for 
me;  if  my  heart  cannot  call  him  God  and  Fa- 
ther ;  if  there  are  no  grounds  in  his  existence  for 
the  exercise  of  my  love,  my  fear,  my  hope  and 
my  trust,  then  it  is  of  no  consequence  to  me  whe- 
ther such  a  principle  exists  or  not.  I  will  not 
even  waste  my  time  in  ascertaining  whether 
there  is,  metaphysically,  any  difference  between 
a  theory  which  supposes  such  a  God,  and  the 
baldest  form  of  atheism,  because  I  feel,  that 
morally  and  practically  and  vitally,  there  is  no 
difference.  Indeed  it  may  be  easily  asserted,  and 
it  will  be  as  easily  granted,  that  no  one  can  form 
a  distinct  conception  of  the  mode  of  God's  exist- 
ence ;  can  with  any  accuracy  define  the  Infinite 
Lord  of  heaven  and  earth.  But  this  inability 
does  not  interfere  with  the  power  of  forming  a 
moral  apprehension  of  God,  which  is,  in  fact,  the 
basis  of  all  true  religion.  It  is  not  necessary  that 
we  should  be  able  to  define  the  mode  of  God's 
existence,  but  it  is  necessary,  and  it  is  perfectly 
within  our  power,  to  make  up  our  minds  whether 
the  God  of  our  faith  is  or  is  not  a  God,  who, 
amidst  all  the  mysteries  of  his  nature,  has  a  per- 
sonal knowledge  and  a  personal  charge  of  us ; 


62  FOLLY    OF    ATHEISM. 

whether  he  is  the  God  of  the  Bible  and  of  Chris- 
tianity, or  of  some  metaphysical  theory,  which 
would  remove  him  from  the  government  of  the 
world,  and  the  affections  of  men.  It  is  very  easy 
for  any  one  to  settle  for  himself  this  moral  and 
practical  question,  which  is  without  a  shadow  of 
abstruseness.  He  has  to  deal  only  with  results, 
with  consequences.  He  has  only  to  determine 
whether  there  is  any  final  distinction,  any  dis- 
tinction which  his  heart  can  recognize,  between  a 
God  who  sees,  and  knows,  and  hears,  and  loves 
him  not,  and  no  God.  If  he  perceives  no  such 
distinction,  he  will  not  feel  more  inclined  to  sur- 
render his  long-cherished  faith  and  worship  to  an 
adorned  theory,  hung  about  with  lofty  phrases, 
than  to  a  more  vulgar  atheism ;  and  he  would 
consider  the  surrender  to  be  a  folly  of  the  same 
character,  and  to  the  same  effect,  with  that  of 
saying,  There  is  no  God. 

"  The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  There  is  no 
God."  His  folly  consists  not  in  his  saying  so, 
merely ;  not  in  the  use  of  that  single  phrase ;  it 
is  not  a  folly  of  speech  only  ;  it  is  the  folly  of  his 
heart,  by  which  he  banishes  from  his  thoughts, 
as  far  as  he  can,  the  conviction  of  an  overruling, 
all-seeing,  rewarding  and  faithful  God.  All  spe- 


FOLLY    OF   ATHEISM.  63 

culation,  which  results  in  a  similar  conclusion, 
must  be  marked  by  a  similar  epithet.  The  true 
God  is  ascertained,  not  speculatively,  but  moral- 
ly. He  is  God  the  Creator,  God  the  Father,  God 
the  Judge.  As  a  human  friend  sees  us  and 
knows  us,  so  does  God,  only  far  more  clearly  and 
intimately ;  as  that  friend  feels  for  us  and  loves 
us,  so  does  God,  only  far  more  deeply  and  more 
wisely ;  as  that  friend  seeks  our  happiness  for 
time  and  for  eternity,  so  does  God,  but  by  means 
which  are  far  beyond  all  human  power  or  thought. 
Faith  in  this  God,  is  the  true  faith,  be  it  accom- 
panied or  unaccompanied  by  speculation ;  it  is 
wisdom,  and  it  is  salvation.  "  For  this  God  is 
our  God  for  ever  and  ever ;  he  will  be  our  guide 
even  unto  death." 

OCTOBEB  17,   1841. 


SERMON  VI. 


DWELLING    IN   THE   TEMPLE. 

ONE  THING  HAVE  I  DESIRED  OF  THE  LORD,  THAT  WILL  I  SEEK 
AFTER  ;  THAT  I  MAY  DWELL  IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  LORD  ALL  THE 
DAYS  OF  MY  LIFE,  TO  BEHOLD  THE  BEAUTY  OF  THE  LORD,  AND 
TO  INQUIRE  IN  HIS  TEMPLE.  —  Psalm  XXVii.  4. 

THE  existence  and  perfections  of  God,  and  the 
relations  of  God  with  man  as  his  Creator,  Father 
and  Judge,  being  established  as  facts  in  the  mind 
of  the  believer,  the  very  next  question  which  will 
naturally  be  presented  for  solution,  is,  what  should 
be  his  own  main  object  and  chief  desire,  as  a 
creature,  a  son,  and  a  servant  of  God  1  The 
question  is,  not  what  should  be  his  only  object 
and  desire,  but  what  should  be  his  principal,  his 
supreme  object  and  desire.  He  sees  and  readily 
allows,  that  while  he  is  on  earth,  surrounded  by 
various  earthly  relations,  his  objects  must  be 
many,  and  his  desires  many,  and  that  it  is  the 
law  of  his  condition  and  the  will  of  his  Creator, 


DWELLING   IN    THE    TEMPLE.  65 

that  he  should  give  due  heed  to  them  all,  in  their 
time  and  place.  But  he  requires  to  know,  beside 
and  above  this,  what  should  be  the  ruling  desire 
of  his  spirit,  which  should  hold  a  supervision 
over  the  others,  and  according  to  which  the 
others  should  be  conformed,  and  which  will  serve 
him  as  a  great  guiding  principle  through  the 
labyrinth  of  life. 

Many  of  us,  I  presume,  at  one  period  or  ano- 
ther, and  with  more  or  less  intensity,  have  consi- 
dered this  same  question.  Remarkable  and  pitia- 
ble is  the  lethargy  or  frivolity  of  that  soul,  to 
which  it  has  never  been  brought  home.  But 
sickness,  or  bereavement,  or  solitude,  any  signal 
interruption  of  or  departure  from  our  usual 
routine  of  living,  or  even  the  seemingly  casual 
intervention  of  some  serious  train  of  thought,  is 
apt  to  propose,  and  lead  us  on  to  answer  the 
question,  what,  among  all  our  desires,  should  be 
the  chief  desire  ;  what,  as  rational  and  immortal 
beings,  we  should  be  living  for  ?  And  all  argu- 
ment, all  reflection,  all  self-communion,  soberly 
and  sensibly  conducted,  will  soon  be  concentra- 
ted on  one  point,  toward  which  all  other  circum- 
stances will  look,  and  on  which  all  the  energies 
of  the  mind,  and  occupations  and  engagements  of 
5 


66  DWELLING   IN   THE    TEMPLE. 

life  will  be  made  eventually  to  bear.  The  reason 
and  heart  will  unite  in  the  conclusion,  that  the 
chief  desire  of  the  creature  should  be  to  remember 
and  serve  his  Creator ;  of  the  child,  to  honor  and 
obey  his  Father;  of  the  mortal  probationer,  to 
obtain  the  favor  of  his  Judge.  This  conclusion 
is  well  expressed  by  the  words  of  the  text :  "  One 
thing  have  I  desired  of  the  Lord,  that  will  I  seek 
after,  that  I  may  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord 
all  the  days  of  my  life,  to  behold  the  beauty  of 
the  Lord,  and  to  inquire  in,"  or  as  it  is  otherwise 
translated,  "  to  gaze  upon  his  temple." 

The  one  great  object  and  purpose  of  rational 
and  spiritual  life,  is  expressed  by  these  words 
none  the  less  distinctly,  and  all  the  more  impres- 
sively, by  being  expressed  somewhat  metaphori- 
cally. The  one  desire  of  the  Psalmist  was,  that 
he  might  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  all  the 
days  of  his  life.  But  the  Psalmist,  with  all  his 
attachment,  as  a  Jew,  to  the  temple  at  Jerusalem, 
did  not  mean  that  the  one  thing  on  which  his 
heart  was  bent,  was  actually  to  take  up  his 
abode,  and  literally  to  dwell  and  remain  in  the 
temple  all  the  days  of  his  life ;  but  habitually, 
constantly,  and  gladly  to  frequent  it,  as  a  devout 
worshipper,  and  in  order  that  his  heart  might  be 


DWELLING   IN   THE    TEMPLE. 


67 


prevailingly  occupied  and  refreshed  by  the  true 
spirit  and  the  gracious  comforts  of  religion.  As 
it  was  to  him,  so  this  constant  spiritual  abiding 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  will  appear  to  be  to  us, 
in  our  seasons  of  reflection  and  inquiry,  the  one 
thing  to  be  desired  and  sought  after.  Not  that 
the  mere  going  to  the  house  of  God  is  this  "  one 
thing,"  or  the  mere  staying  there,  ever  so  long  or 
often ;  but  that  the  sense  of  dependence  on  God, 
the  emotions  of  gratitude  towards  him,  and  the 
giving  up  ourselves  to  him  in  love  and  obedience, 
which  are  figured  by  the  strong  expression  of 
dwelling  always  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  will  be 
to  us  the  "  one  thing,"  to  which  the  desires  of  the 
heart  should  be  turned,  and  into  which  our  life 
should  be  absorbed.  The  purpose  of  the  soul 
will  be  simple.  It  will  no  longer  be  distracted  by 
many  calls,  bewildered  among  many  roamings ; 
it  will  be  directed  to  one  thing,  even  the  perpe- 
tual worship  of  the  Father  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 
This  worship  is  not  words  alone,  or  words 
chiefly,  or  any  outward  forms.  Words  and  out- 
ward forms  may  and  do  nourish  it,  furnishing  it 
with  signs  and  memorials ;  and  therefore  it  will 
not  hastily,  and  it  cannot  safely,  refuse  their  aid ; 
but  the  worship  itself  is  real  service,  the  service 


68  DWELLING   IN   THE   TEMPLE. 

which  the  affections,  the  actions,  the  whole  and 
complete  life,  render  to  the  One  Supreme.  And 
whether  we  say  the  love  of  God,  or  the  fear  of 
God,  or  religion,  or  piety,  or  holiness,  or  the  obe- 
dience of  God's  commandments,  it  is  all  the  same, 
it  is  "  one  thing,"  and  the  one  thing  which 
attracts  the  chief  desire  of  the  creature,  when  he 
feels  himself  to  be  the  creature  of  God.  On  this 
one  thing  is  fixed  intently  the  heart  of  the  true 
worshipper,  the  heart  which  has  been  fixed 
thereon  by  his  own  rational  convictions,  and  the 
divine  grace  assisting  him.  The  house  of  God, 
built  with  hands,  will  be  loved  and  frequented, 
because  it  is  the  visible  type  of  the  temple  not 
built  with  hands,  and  because  it  is  the  porch  of 
the  temple  within.  But  the  temple  of  his  soul's 
constant  residence,  the  house  of  the  Lord,  in 
which  he  desires  to  dwell  his  whole  life  long,  is 
that  lofty  and  spiritual  building,  that  vast  and 
sacred  edifice,  higher  than  the  sky  and  more 
ample  than  the  earth,  which  encloses  all  his  rela- 
tions with  the  Author  of  his  being.  In  this  he 
serves  and  ministers,  a  faithful  Levite,  by  night 
and  by  day,  feeding  the  bright  and  perpetual 
lamp  of  faith,  singing  the  psalms  of  the  heart, 
and  offering  the  sacrifices  of  God  in  righteous- 


DWELLING  IN   THE    TEMPLE.  69 

ness.  He  is  not  wearied  with  his  service.  He 
feels  no  impatience,  and  no  morbid  desire  of 
change.  He  is  not  to  be  attracted,  nor  terrified, 
from  the  place  of  his  duty ;  for  he  has  found  the 
place  of  his  duty  to  be  the  place,  and  the  only 
place  of  his  security  and  rest.  In  suffering  or 
rejoicing,  in  action  or  repose,  in  the  body  or  out 
of  the  body,  he  desires  one  thing,  above  every- 
thing else,  to  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  to 
be  with  God. 

This  desire  is  rendered  more  single  and  intense, 
more  searching  and  sustaining,  pervading  the 
soul  as  the  red  blood  the  body,  by  the  varied 
events  of  life.  True  it  is,  that  many  who,  in 
some  rare  and  thoughtful  season,  have  enter- 
tained it,  afterwards  dismiss  it,  or  let  it  faint 
away,  and  that  many  either  do  not  form  it  at  all, 
or  only  breathe  it  hastily  with  their  last  breath, 
when  it  is  probably  too  late,  at  least  for  all  pur- 
poses of  this  mortal  probation.  But  I  speak  of 
those  who  do  form  it,  and  who  are  daily  re- 
ceiving from  experience,  some  useful  lessons, 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little,  of  seriousness  and 
wisdom.  They  will  acknowledge  that  their  dis- 
cipline is  never  too  much,  and  always  fraught 
with  benefit,  if  the  spirit  will  apply  it  wisely; 


70  DWELLING   IN   THE    TEMPLE. 

and  that  every  year  which  passes  over  them, 
whatever  its  character  may  be,  still  confirms  the 
conviction,  that  one  thing  is  to  be  desired  and 
sought  after,  which  is,  to  dwell  forever  in  the 
house  of  the  Lord. 

Though  every  year  and  all  events  confirm  this 
conviction,  and  concur  to  strengthen  the  chief  de- 
sire of  the  conscious  and  watchful  spirit,  yet  there 
are  peculiar  seasons  and  occasions,  in  which 
clearer  views  than  usual  seem  to  be  obtained  of 
the  great  object  of  life,  and  a  stronger  impulse 
than  common  to  be  given  to  the  supreme  desire. 
I  have  already  intimated  what  some  of  these  sea- 
sons and  occasions  are.  The  soul  is  then  com- 
pelled or  kindly  led  into  a  state  of  separation. 
We  enter  into  our  chambers.  Worldly  forms,  gay 
temptations,  the  shapes  of  fashion  and  of  custom 
are  then  shut  out.  The  eye  reposes  from  their 
flauntings,  and  the  ear  is  relieved  from  their  bab- 
blings ;  and  in  their  stead  comes  in  duty,  and  sits 
down  by  us  alone,  and  utters  its  simple  but  sol- 
emn lessons,  and  teaches  us  in  serious  friendli- 
ness, the  purposes  of  our  existence.  The  listener, 
the  pupil,  is  brought  to  a  survey  of  the  years  that 
are  past.  He  sees  them  in  a  clear  and  passion- 
less light ;  and  the  conviction  comes  to  him  like 


DWELLING   IN    THE   TEMPLE.  71 

a  revelation,  it  is  so  unlike  what  he  has  at  other 
times  called  convictions,  that  in  measure  they 
have  been  brief,  in  number  few ;  and  that  all 
their  value,  all  that  renders  them  of  more  conse-, 
quence  than  so  many  successive  dreams,  is  com- 
prised in  acts  of  obedience  to  the  supreme  law,  in 
works  and  thoughts  of  charity,  in  the  exercise  of 
the  affections  according  to  the  divine  will,  in 
whatever  has  brought  him  nearer,  by  the  ways 
of  action  or  contemplation,  to  heaven,  Christ,  and 
God.  What  are  commonly  termed  the  pleasures 
of  life,  shrink  up,  in  this  survey,  into  a  small 
compass;  and  are  so  little  inviting  in  their 
shrunken  forms,  that  the  mind  would  rather 
avoid  them  than  dwell  upon  them.  Those  only 
seem  to  be  pleasures,  which  have  been  received 
with  gratitude,  and  enjoyed  with  innocence,  and 
have  united  themselves  with  duties  in  the  great 
work  of  spiritual  preparation.  Nor  does  the 
pupil  look  only  on  the  years  that  are  past.  His 
view  is  directed  to  the  future.  He  looks  down 
on  the  valley  before  him,  where  falls  the  broad, 
shadowless  light  of  eternity.  Years  and  months 
are  not  there,  for  they  have  not  yet  come.  But 
the  signs  of  his  destiny  are  plain.  He  reads, 
that  if  his  mortal  life  be  near  its  close,  the  un- 


72  DWELLING   IN    THE    TEMPLE. 

tried  state  is  also  near,  and  God,  the  Judge,  is  at 
hand.  He  reads,  that  if  his  life  is  to  be  spared 
for  more  years  on  earth,  they  will  be  no  longer 
.than  the  years  that  are  gone,  and  will  pass  as 
swiftly  as  they  did;  and  that,  whatever  their 
number  or  character  may  be,  their  value  will 
surely  be  measured  by  the  same  unvarying  rule 
which  tested  the  value  of  their  predecessors,  and 
that  thoughts  and  deeds  of  holiness  and  improve- 
ment will  be  the  only  records  upon  them,  which 
he  will  peruse  hereafter  with  any  satisfaction. 
He  sees  that  his  fortunes  may  change,  but  that 
his  great  obligations  cannot ;  and  that  whatever 
else  may  be  altered,  his  relations  with  the  Eternal 
Father  must  remain  unalterable.  And  thus  he 
feels  himself  even  now  encompassed  before  and 
behind,  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  by  the 
presence  of  that  unchangeable  One.  His  contem- 
plations are  rendered  distinct,  simple,  and  satis- 
factory. He  no  longer  labors  among  things  which 
are  hard  to  be  understood.  He  learns  the  few 
letters  which  compose  the  ineffable  Name.  Life, 
and  the  presence  of  its  Author  are  to  him  one  and 
the  same  thing,  and  the  ends  of  life  become  iden- 
tified with  the  obedience  and  the  enjoyment  of 
God. 


DWELLING   IN    THE    TEMPLE.  73 

Convictions  of  this  character  are  the  only  ones 
which  deserve  the  name  of  being  religious.  Other 
convictions  there  may  be,  or  seem  to  be,  enthusi- 
astic, sympathetic,  traditionary  or  doctrinal,  which  • 
claim  to  be  religious;  but  unless  they  guide 
the  affections,  the  desires,  the  life,  into  the 
state  of  spiritual  obedience,  trust  and  rest  which 
I  have  attempted  to  describe,  they  are  not  reli- 
gious, they  are  not  Christian,  they  are  nothing 
and  vanity.  Their  pretensions,  however'  great, 
cannot  be  allowed.  They  will  not  be  heard 
for  their  much  speaking.  Those  convictions  only 
are  religious,  which  are  active  and  operative, 
leading  the  soul  into  the  temple,  and  causing  it  to 
dwell  there.  By  whatever  circumstances,  events, 
instructions  or  trains  of  thought,  such  convic- 
tions are  produced,  they  are  essentially  religious. 
They  may  be  brought  about  in  one  mind  by  one 
set  of  influences,  and  in  another  mind  by  a  set  in 
many  respects  dissimilar;  but  however  brought 
about,  the  mind  which  entertains  them,  enter- 
tains religion,  finds  religion,  enjoys  religion;  — 
and  enjoyment  it  is,  above  all  else  which  bears 
the  name. 

And  here  it  may  not  be  unnecessary  to  say, 
that   these  proper  religious  convictions  are  far 


74  DWELLING   IN    THE    TEMPLE. 

from  being  of  a  gloomy  nature.  They  neither 
cause  gloominess,  nor  have  they  any  affinity 
with  such  a  temperament.  On  the  contrary,  the 
more  firmly  they  are  settled  in  the  mind  of  the 
worshipper,  the  more  constant  and  undisturbed 
will  be  his  cheerfulness, — that  rational  cheer- 
fulness which  is  the  inseparable  companion  of 
rational  seriousness.  His  most  serious  thoughts 
are  employed  in  laying  the  foundations  of  cheer- 
fulness, so  that  no  light  shock  shall  overturn  it. 
Cheerfulness  becomes  part  of  his  character,  part 
of  his  nature.  How  should  he  be  otherwise  than 
cheerful,  when  he  feels  that  his  spirit  abides  with 
the  Paternal  Spirit,  under  the  paternal  dome. 
How  should  he  be  otherwise  than  cheerful,  when 
he  feels  that  under  that  dome  there  is  peace  and 
security  forever;  that  into  that  sanctuary  the 
enemy  and  the  avenger  cannot  pursue  him. 
How  should  he  be  otherwise  than  cheerful,  when 
he  regards  appointed  sorrows  as  means  of  im- 
provement and  happiness,  and  finds  in  practice 
that  they  are  so  indeed ;  when  he  sees  the  flow- 
ers spring  up  from  graves;  when  he  sees  that 
grief  penetrates  and  enriches  the  willing  soul,  as 
does  the  rain  the  willing  soil ;  when  he  sees  that 
death  cannot  harm  his  life,  nor  change  his  sub- 


DWELLING  IN   THE   TEMPLE.  75 

stantial  relations  with  its  eternal  Giver  and  Pre- 
server. I  will  not  say  that  he  is  at  every  mo- 
ment cheerful ;  that  he  is  not  sometimes  over- 
taken by  the  shadow  of  dark  hours.  He  is  not 
stoically  independent  of  all  outward  impres- 
sions, nor  exempt  from  internal  changes.  He 
is  not  perfect.  He  is  mortal.  He  is  frail.  But 
his  cheerfulness,  though  not  actually  uninter- 
mitted,  is  yet  habitual.  It  does  not  easily  give 
way.  It  is  more  and  more  confirmed  by  the 
accession  of  every  feeling  of  piety,  every  reli- 
gious experience,  every  step  towards  the  inner- 
most, holiest  and  safest  portion  of  the  house  of 
the  Lord. 

Thus  are  they  instructed,  who  are  willing  to 
receive  instruction.  Thus  are  they  instructed 
day  by  day,  and  day  by  day  improved.  Their 
outward  occupations,  tneir  temporal  business  and 
pursuits,  and  the  scenes  of  them,  are  various. 
Whatever  these  may  be,  they  will  not  slight 
them.  They  will  move  in  them" with  diligence. 
But  they  will  perceive,  all  the  while,  that  being 
temporal,  they  can  only  endure  for  a  season, 
and  cannot  wisely  be  made  the  sole  and  ultimate 
object  of  attention  and  desire ;  and  that  there  is 
only  one  thing,  amidst  all  these  vanishing  things, 


76  DWELLING   IN   THE    TEMPLE. 

which  is  supremely  desirable —  to  dwell  in  the 
house  of  the  Lord;  to  obey  him,  to  worship  him, 
to  rest  upon  him  forever ;  —  because  He,  and  He 
only,  is  the  master  of  life,  and  without  him, 
favor  is  deceitful,  and  beauty  is  vain,  light  is 
darkness,  and  life  is  death. 

FEBRUARY  22,  1835 


SERMON    VII. 


DEATH    AN    APPOINTMENT. 


IT   IS   APPOINTED   UNTO   MEN   ONCE    TO    DIE,  BUT    AFTER  THIS  THE 

JUDGMENT. — Heb.  ix.  27. 


WE  cannot  think  or  speak  of  death  except  as  a 
certainty.  It  would  amount  even  to  a  misuse  of 
language  to  say,  We  may  die,  as  if  the  event 
were  in  any  degree  conditional,  instead  of  em- 
ploying the  positive  and  only  proper  phrase,  We 
must  die.  There  is  a  wide  difference,  however, 
between  regarding  death  merely  as  a,  fact,  though 
settled  and  inevitable,  and  regarding  it  as  an  ap- 
pointment To  regard  it  merely  as  a  fact,  uni- 
versal to  the  human  race,  is  to  give  it  into  the 
cold  hands  of  an  unintelligent  fate.  To  regard  it 
as  an  appointment,  is  to  place  it  under  the  direc- 
tion of  an  intelligent  cause,  or  being.  And  this 
last  is  the  conclusion  to  which  we  most  naturally 
are  lead.  Nothing  seems  to  be  more  unreason- 
able than  to  attribue  death,  which  has  its  pre- 


78  DEATH   AN   APPOINTMENT. 

scribed  laws  and  limits,  to  the  action  of  lawless 
chance  or  insensible  fate.  Its  laws  are  ascer- 
tained by  the  science  of  physiology ;  its  limits 
are  well  known  to  general  experience.  The  sure 
elements  of  death  are  contained,  from  the  first, 
within  the  structure  of  every  human  frame,  pre- 
monishing  its  dissolution;  and  this  dissolution 
takes  place  within  certain  bounds  of  time,  which 
are  never  exceeded.  Here  are  indications  of  in- 
tention ;  signals  that  death  does  not  happen  unto, 
but  is  appointed  unto  men. 

Then  the  question  occurs,  if  death  is  appointed, 
by  whom  is  it  appointed?  By  Him  only,  is  the 
necessary  answer,  the  One  Almighty,  who  ap- 
points all  the  conditions  of  our  being,  and  of  the 
world,  and  who  alone  is  able  to  appoint  a  condi- 
tion so  dread  and  so  universal  as  that  of  death. 
By  none  other  can  death  be  appointed.  By  none 
other  can  generation  after  generation  be  swept 
away  from  the  earth,  like  leaves  by  autumnal 
winds.  Death  is  an  appointment  from  God. 

Here  we  arrive  at  the  religious  view  of  death, 
having  passed  the  merely  literal  and  the  merely 
philosophical  view.  Here  we  ascribe  a  signifi- 
cance to  death,  and  a  holy  significance,  by  mak- 
ing it  the  act  of  God.  Here  we  perceive  that 


DEATH   AN   APPOINTMENT.  79 

the  proper  meaning  and  force  of  the  text,  lies  in 
the  word  "appointed."  The  idea  of  God's  su- 
preme power  and  providence  must  have  occupied 
the  mind  of  the  writer,  or  he  would  not  have 
written,  "It  is  appointed  unto  men  once  to  die." 
And  it  is  in  this  view  of  death  only,  as  a  divine 
appointment,  that  comfort  is  to  be  found,  when 
the  shadow  of  death  is  passing  over  us.  For  if 
God  has  taken  this  event  into  his  immediate 
charge,  if  death  be  of  his  appointing,  then  we 
may  certainty  know,  that  whatever  may  be  the 
terrors  of  its  appearance,  it  is  appointed  in  wis- 
dom, and  appointed  in  love.  It  is  appointed  by 
the  same  Being  who  opens  our  eyes  upon  the 
glories  of  this  marvellous  world,  and  is  the  au- 
thor of  all  the  happiness  we  have  ever  enjoyed. 
It  is  appointed  by  the  same  Being  who  rules  the 
universe,  in  all  its  movements,  and  throughout 
all  its  extent,  Let  it  come,  then,  at  whatever 
season,  in  whatever  mode,  it  cannot  come  with- 
out the  cognizance  of  that  knowledge  which  pre- 
cludes the  supposition  of  error,  and  of  that  mercy 
on  which  every  doubt  and  every  sorrow  may 
lean.  The  circumstances  of  death  may  indeed 
be  varied  by  that  imprudence  which  is  a  part  of 
human  frailty,  or  that  perverseness  which  is  a 


80  DEATH   AN   APPOINTMENT. 

consequence  of  human  liberty.  But  neither  hu- 
man ignorance  nor  sin  can  fatally  interfere  with 
the  wisdom  and  love  of  God.  The  event  of 
death  is  unalterably  of  his  appointment,  equally 
with  his  kindest  and  brightest  dispensations,  and 
being  so,  cannot  be  separated  from  those  attend- 
ant comforts  which  flow  from  his  grace,  and  are 
founded  on  his  divine  nature  and  attributes. 
Nor  can  any  shock  of  the  excited  elements,  or 
anything  called  fatal  accident,  disturb  the  settled 
pillars  of  this  faith.  All  these  are  under  his  con- 
trol, pass  not  a  step  beyond  his  decree,  and  touch 
not  the  great  issue.  The  wildest  waves  sink 
down  with  the  subsiding  storm,  and  yield  a  path 
to  following  navies.  The  fiercest  volcano  retires, 
when  spent,  into  its  caverns,  and  leaves  a  soil  for 
the  richest  vineyards  on  the  highway  of  its  deso- 
lations. Life  follows  death,  and  death  life,  and 
both  by  the  same  appointment.  To  know  that 
God  is  wise,  to  know  that  God  is  good,  is  to 
know  that  his  wisdom  and  his  goodness  preside 
at  once  over  life  and  over  death. 

We  soon  reach  the  conclusion  that  the  event  of 
death  is  a  direct  appointment  of  the  Supreme  In- 
telligence, and  that  it  therefore  admits  freely  of 
those  comforts  which  a  consideration  of  the  attri- 


DEATH   AN   APPOINTMENT.  81 

butes  of  our  heavenly  Father  cannot  fail  to 
afford.  But  we  are  permitted  to  proceed  some- 
what further,  and  to  ask  more  particularly  why 
is  death  appointed,  and  what  are  the  special 
grounds  of  the  appointment  ?  A  complete  answer 
to  this  question,  satisfying  every  wish  of  the  heart 
and  every  difficulty  of  the  understanding,  must 
not  be  expected  in  this  present  state,  which  is  em- 
phatically a  state  of  dimness.  But  full  enough 
may  be  answered  for  the  encouragement  of  pa- 
tience, of  hope,  and  of  unbounded  trust. 

All  the  arrangements  of  man's  present  life  have 
an  evident  temporary  character,  and  a  reference 
to  a  speedy  termination ;  manifesting  the  want 
of  things  not  now  attainable,  and  a  series  of  pre- 
parations for  some  contemplated  change.  The 
body  itself,  the  abode  of  the  individual  man,  is 
not  a  structure  built  up  for  permanence.  The 
very  food  by  which  it  is  nourished,  often  becomes 
the  means  of  its  injury  or  destruction.  The 
slightest  attack  shakes  it.  Invisible  atoms  in  the 
air  accomplish  its  decay.  If  it  escapes  all  vio- 
lence, all  disease,  it  wears  out  of  itself,  according 
to  the  laws  of  its  construction,  and  with  no  means 
of  repair.  Bounds  are  set  to  our  knowledge,  and 
to  our  spiritual  experience.  The  thousands  of 

6 


82  DEATH   AN   APPOINTMENT. 

stars  just  show  themselves  to  us,  and  only  by 
night,  and  in  the  least  appreciable  degree,  and 
never  draw  any  nearer,  but  remain  as  far  away 
at  our  maturity  as  at  our  birth.  Of  life,  and  its 
principal  conditions  and  essential  relations,  we 
soon  learn  all  that  there  is  to  be  learned.  The 
details  of  knowledge  are  indeed  inexhaustible, 
and  always  enough  for  occupation,  and  are  only 
too  much  neglected ;  but  they  are  all  contained 
within  an  earthly  circle,  and  make  no  addition  to 
those  conditions  and  relations  of  which  I  speak. 
The  man  who  numbers  thirty  or  forty  years  of 
pilgrimage,  must  feel,  that  with  regard  to  these 
main  objects,  he  has  got  through,  and  that  the 
rest  of  his  way  can  be  only  repetition.  Our  fac- 
ulties themselves  have  their  limits,  beyond  which 
there  is  no  increase  for  them ;  just  as  the  body, 
when  arrived  at  its  full  strength,  grows  no 
stronger.  Here  are  indications  of  sufficient  dis- 
tinctness to  show  that  there  is  only  so  much  to 
be  done  in  this  life,  so  much  to  be  known,  so 
much  to  be  experienced,  and  no  more.  And  yet, 
together  with  these  indications,  there  is  an  irre- 
pressible desire  in  the  bosom  of  man,  who  is  thus 
limited  and  hemmed  in,  for  the  further  expansion 
and  progress  which  the  terms  of  his  present  being 


DEATH   AN   APPOINTMENT.  83 

deny  to  him.  Death  is  appointed  to  fulfil  this 
desire,  by  removing  the  limits  and  restrictions 
which  the  initiatory  state  of  existence  imposes. 
To  perceive  the  temporary  nature,  and  frailty, 
and  deficiency  of  mortal  life,  is  to  perceive  a  rea- 
son for  the  appointment  of  death. 

Again,  let  us  consider  that  the  field  of  this  life 
is  full  of  the  springs  of  sorrow,  and  that  these 
springs,  or  a  large  proportion  of  them,  have  their 
origin  in  the  conditions  of  its  imperfection.  The 
pains  and  sicknesses  of  the  body,  the  infirmities 
and  errors  of  the  mind,  the  wanderings  and  ex- 
cesses of  the  passions,  are  all  the  sources  of  many 
and  great  sorrows,  and  of  sins,  which  are  sorrows 
also.  But  these  sources  of  sorrow  belong  to  the 
limited  condition  of  life,  and  will  stop  when  that 
condition  ends.  Their  purpose  is  no  doubt  disci- 
plinary and  useful ;  but  it  is  consoling  to  be  assur- 
ed that  they  will  be  brought  to  a  close,  by  the  clos- 
ing of  that  temporary  arrangement  from  which 
they  arise,  and  to  which  they  are  bound.  Death 
is  appointed,  then,  to  hush  these  sorrows,  in  the 
act  of  terminating  this  arrangement ;  and  it  is  ap- 
pointed to  act,  not  by  extinction,  but  by  change ; 
not  by  putting  an  end  to  being  itself,  and  conse- 
quently all  that  belongs  to  it,  but  by  putting  an 


84  DEATH   AN    APPOINTMENT. 

end  to  a  limited  state  of  being,  and  all  the  trou- 
bles which  are  inseparable  from  its  limitations. 

But  death  itself,  which  is  appointed  to  cut  off 
the  sources  of  many  sorrows,  is  it  not,  in  the 
execution  of  this  office,  the  author  of  other  and 
overwhelming  sorrows  ?  The  sobs  and  tears  of 
widows  and  orphans,  and  those  of  other  name 
among  the  bereaved,  answer  without  a  word, 
and  testify  most  forcibly  that  it  is.  The  dear 
affections  which  grow  out  of  the  consanguinities 
and  connexions  of  domestic  life,  must  needs  be 
wounded  when  those  relations  are  broken  by 
death.  To  love  here  on  earth,  is  indeed  to  pre- 
pare the  way  for  sorrow,  for  all  who  love  must 
be  parted  by  the  great  appointment.  But  death 
is  appointed  to  put  an  end  also  to  this  sorrow.  It 
is  appointed  to  put  an  end  to  that  state  which  re- 
quires death.  Its  first,  last  and  only  act,  is  to 
open  a  scene  of  things  in  which  its  own  power  is 
for  ever  abdicated.  The  text  informs  us  that  "  it 
is  appointed  unto  men  once  to  die."  We  die 
that  we  may  die  no  more.  What  a  boundless 
scene  is  opened  by  that  word  "once."  Years 
will  roll  on,  and  there  will  be  no  symptoms  of 
old  age  or  decay ;  centuries  will  elapse,  and  there 
will  be  no  fear,  no  thought  of  dying;  for  they 


DEATH   AN    APPOINTMENT.  85 

who  have  died  once,  shall  die  no  more,  death 
having  no  place  nor  part  in  the  dominion  to 
which  he  has  brought  them.  What  a  scene  of 
enlargement  and  advancement  is  that,  in  which 
there  will  be  no  decline  of  the  faculties,  no  walls 
for  their  imprisonment,  no  chains  binding  them 
to  the  set  rounds  of  mortality.  What  a  scene  of 
holiness,  in  which  those  causes  of  sin  shall  cease, 
which  now  operate  through  the  infirmities  of  the 
flesh.  What  a  scene  of  happiness,  in  which 
those  sources  of  sorrow  must  necessarily  be  dried 
up,  which  now  flow  from  sickness,  from  separa- 
tion, from  death.  We  die  once,  and  but  once. 
Death  was  appointed,  that  it  might  be  lost  in 
life. 

This  future  and  eternal  life  is  also,  in  all  its 
conditions,  an  appointment  of  the  same  Eternal 
Being  who  appoints  the  present  life  and  death. 
Judgment  is  a  condition  of  that  life.  "  It  is  ap- 
pointed unto  men  once  to  die,  but  after  this  the 
judgment."  Death  is  done  with,  having  fulfilled 
the  purposes  of  its  appointment,  and  the  eternal 
life  begins  its  course  in  judgment.  What  the 
place  of  each  soul  may  be,  as  it  enters  this  life 
without  death,  we  may  not  know ;  but  we  know 
that  the  righteous  God  will  judge  the  world  in 
righteousness. 


86  DEATH   AN   APPOINTMENT. 

Let  us  learn  to  look  on  death  as  an  appoint- 
ment, not  a  fatality ;  as  an  appointment  of  our 
Heavenly  Father,  who  alone  has  the  power ;  as 
appointed  in  wisdom  and  love,  because  appointed 
by  Him.  To  die,  is  not  to  be  lost,  but  to  acquire 
a  more  certain  and  distinguished  being.  To  die, 
is  to  be  set  free ;  free  from  the  fetters  of  a  body 
which  is  dying  while  it  lives,  and  from  the  nar- 
row bounds  of  a  restricted  state.  To  die,  is  to  go 
with  our  conscience  and  character  only,  into  the 
presence  of  our  Judge.  To  every  temple  there  is 
a  portal,  and  a  passage  from  the  one  to  the  other. 
This  mortal  life  is  the  portal  which  stands  before 
the  grand  temple  of  eternity;  and  death  is  the 
passage  between  them. 

SEPTEMBER  12,  1841. 


SERMON    VIII. 

• 

THE    TIME    OF    DEATH. 

A  TIME   TO    DIE.  —  EccleS.  ill.  2. 

FEW  and  simple  as  these  words  are,  they  are 
full  of  meaning.  Reflection  will  reveal  to  us 
something  of  this  fulness.  It  is  well  for  us  if  we 
be  accustomed  to  reflect,  and  do  not  stand  among 
those  who  only  perceive,  who  only  see  the  sur- 
face, the  outside,  and  there  stop,  not  using  the 
ability  and  privilege  which  they  have  of  looking 
beneath  and  within.  Yes,  they  say,  we  know 
that  there  is  a  time  to  die.  We  are  born,  we  live, 
and  then  we  must  die.  We  know  all  this.  We 
see  it  as  we  go  along.  We  cannot  be  made  more 
certain  of  it  than  we  are.  We  need  not  be  told 
that  there  is  a  time  to  die. 

Thus  do  mysteries  seem  trivial  because  they 
are  constant,  and  knowledge  is  slighted  because 
it  is  near ;  and  thus  are  men  satisfied  with  mere 
perception,  while  they  neglect  the  duty,  and  lose 


88  THE    TIME    OF    DEATH. 

the  advantages  of  reflection.  Not  that  death  is 
to  be  the  only  subject  of  serious  reflection ;  but  it 
stands  to  reason,  that  if  anything  deserves  to  be 
pondered,  it  is  the  event  which  terminates  our 
eartMy  existence,  and  that  if  a  man  will  not 
reflect  upon  this,  the  habit  of  reflection  is  very 
much  a  stranger  to  his  mind. 

What  is  the  time  of  death?  Is  it  any  fixed 
and  certain  time  1  Does  it  come  at  any  particu- 
lar age?  Are  all  graves  of  the  same  length? 
No.  Every  hour,  every  moment,  from  the  instant 
of  birth  to  the  dim  limit  of  the  longest  life,  may 
be  and  has  been  the  time  of  death.  Human  care 
and  skill,  the  nurse  and  the  physician,  sometimes 
avert  it  for  a  little  while ;  but  whether  they  will 
so  succeed,  and  for  how  long,  is  all  unknown. 
Are  warnings  given  of  that  time,  by  sickness,  by 
weakness,  by  appearances  of  danger?  Some- 
times they  are,  and  sometimes  they  are  not.  No 
man  can  tell,  whether  death  will  strike  him  with 
the  quickness  of  lightning,  or  menace  often,  and 
delay  long. 

It  follows  then,  that  the  time  of  death,  as  it  is 
every  and  any  time,  within  mortal  limits,  as  it 
cannot  with  any  certainty  be  governed  or  regula- 
ted or  avoided  by  man,  is  not  in  the  hands  of 


THE   TIME    OF   DEATH.  89 

man.  It  is  not  within  his  knowledge  or  his 
power.  In  whose  hands  is  it?  This  becomes 
the  second  inquiry.  If  there  be  a  time  to  die, 
and  yet  that  time  be  wholly  uncertain  to  us,  and 
do  not  belong  to  us,  to  whom  does  it  belong? 
The  question  carries  the  contemplative  mind  to 
Him  who  alone  reigns  in  the  universal  realm  of 
existence,  and  of  whom  all  life  is  but  the  breath. 
The  time  of  death  is  dependent  on  the  time  of 
life,  and  belongs  to  the  Author  and  Lord  of  life. 
"  Thou  sendest  forth  thy  spirit,  we  are  created ; 
thou  takest  away  our  breath,  we  die  and  return 
to  the  dust."  The  life  of  every  living  man;  the 
death  of  every  mortal,  dying  man  ;  multitudinous 
waves,  rising,  running,  sparkling,  —  declining, 
sinking,  lost — all  unequal,  and  all  momentary 
—  mysteries  to  each  other,  mysteries  to  them- 
selves —  these  are  all  beneath  the  eye  and  hand 
of  Him  who  "  sitteth  above  the  water-flood," 
who  ruleth  the  raging  of  the  deep,  and  who  hears 
and  comprehends  the  ceaseless  murmur  of  the 
all-encircling  and  eternal  shore.  Life,  time,  and 
death  —  these  are  the  whole;  and  the  whole  is 
before  him,  and  known  to  him,  and  subject  to 
him,  and  to  him  only.  To  him  there  is  no  dis- 
tance, and  no  dimness,  on  this  ocean.  All  is 


90  THE    TIME   OF   DEATH. 

present,  and  all  is  clear.  There  is  a  time  to  die ; 
the  time  of  change,  of  the  soul's  passage,  of  the 
second  revelation,  of  the  new  heavens  and  the 
new  earth  ;  unknown  to  all  and  infinitely  impor- 
tant to  all.  It  is  lodged,  where  alone  it  could  be 
safely  lodged,  in  the  hands  of  Him,  without 
whom  there  would  be  no  life  and  no  death,  of 
Him  who  inhabiteth  eternity. 

And  since  the  time  for  man  to  die  belongs  not 
to  man,  to  ignorant  man  who  walketh  in  a  sha- 
dow, but  to  God,  with  whom  is  no  darkness  at 
all,  the  thoughtful  spirit  may  discern  thus  far  in 
its  progress,  and  be  glad  in  discerning  it,  that 
whenever  this  time  comes  by  divine  appointment, 
it  comes  when  it  should,  and  as  it  should,  being 
altogether  wisely  and  mercifully  sent.  In  this 
conclusion  it  will  take  up  its  permanent  rest;  a 
rest  not  to  be  disturbed  by  the  occurrence  of 
cases  in  which  the  wisdom  and  the  mercy  lie  too 
deep  for  mortal  eye  to  penetrate,  or  mortal  tongue 
to  explain.  And  strange  indeed  it  would  be,  if 
in  the  numberless  and  varying  crowd,  we  could 
see  all  that  is  seen  by  the  eternal  Disposer,  and 
have  nothing  left  there  for  the  exercise  of  faith, 
trust,  and  submission.  But  still,  if  we  will  con- 
sider attentively,  we  shall  perceive  in  many  of 


THE    TIME    OF   DEATH.  91 

the  varieties  of  the  time  of  death,  wise  reasons 
for  each  dispensation,  and  signs  of  the  benevo- 
lence of  Him,  in  whose  hands  alone  is  the  time  to 
die.  Let  us  only  inquire  with  a  single  desire  to 
learn  what  we  can,  and  an  humble  conviction 
that  we  cannot  learn  all,  that  we  cannot  know 
everything,  and  we  shall  learn  full  enough  for 
the  satisfaction  of  our  reason,  and  the  consolation 
of  our  heart. 

"  A  time  to  die."  That  time  is  often  an  early 
time,  coming  to  the  human  being  as  it  lies  in  a 
new  and  strange  world,  all  unconscious  of  this 
difference  between  life  and  death,  which  so  agi- 
tates our  maturity.  The  voice  whispers  in  the 
infant's  ear,  "  Come  ! "  and  it  obeys,  simply, 
without  question  or  thought.  Do  we  ask  why  so 
early  a  time  is  appointed?  Let  us  see  if  there  be 
not  some  fitnesses  in  an  infant's  death.  It  goes 
away  in  a  sweet  season  to  the  heavenly  world. 
It  goes  in  its  innocence,  and  with  its  innocence, 
into  the  pure  presence  of  its  Maker.  Its  robe  is. 
unspotted  whiteness.  Beneath  this  dress  no  fear 
can  throb.  It  need  not  hide  its  face  with  its 
hands.  It  appears  calmly  in  the  great  assembly. 
It  flies  confidently  to  the  outspread  arms  of  the 
Saviour.  Without  purification,  it  takes  its  place 


92  THE    TIME    OF    DEATH. 

with  those  who  have  been  purified  as  by  fire. 
The  sorrows,  pains,  cares,  and  sins  of  this  mortal 
state,  have  never  stained  nor  touched  it.  It  will 
be  educated  altogether  in  heaven .  What  is  there 
to  offend  us  in  such  a  time  of  dying  ?  It  is  true, 
that  while  some  are  thus  early  taken,  others  are 
left  to  experience  the  vicissitudes  of  earth,  to 
enjoy  a  little,  to  suffer  a  little,  to  struggle,  to  sin ; 
and  we  may  ask  for  the  principle  of  the  selection. 
But  we  may  not  be  answered.  God  knows  the 
souls  of  all  his  children ;  we  hardly  know  our 
own.  Some  must  live  on,  while  others  die  soon. 
Let  it  be  granted,  as  in  the  faith  of  immortality  it 
must  be,  that  infancy  is  a  happy  time  to  die,  and 
we  may  well  leave  the  selection  with  the  Father 
of  spirits.  The  day  will  arrive,  when  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  selection  will  be  unfolded.  In  the 
light  of  heaven,  we  shall  read  and  understand  it 
better  than  we  could  amidst  the  shadows  of 
earth. 

"  A  time  to  die."  It  is  ordained  for  many, 
that  they  shall  pass  through  the  scenes  of  multi- 
plied years,  and  see  the  various  changes  which 
belong  to  the  mortal  state.  They  are  not  taken 
in  infancy,  in  childhood,  or  in  youth.  The 
strength  of  manhood  is  suffered  to  flourish  and 


THE    TIME    OF    DEATH.  93 

bear  its  fruit ;  nor  are  the  leaves  shaken  from  the 
tree,  till  in  the  usual  course  of  nature  they  are 
withered.  And  when  these  individuals  have 
seen  all  that  life  has  to  show ;  when  they  have 
been  continued  on  earth  up  to  the  scriptural 
boundaries  of  man's  age,  or  beyond  them ;  and 
had  all  their  opportunities,  all  their  blessings,  and 
all  the  common  discipline  of  earth ;  when  their 
bodily  or  mental  powers,  or  both,  are  wearing  or 
worn  out ;  when  the  people  by  whom  they  are 
surrounded  in  the  world,  are  mostly  strangers  to 
them ;  when  those  whom  they  have  known  and 
loved  best  are  gone  on  before  them,  and  they  are 
almost  left  alone — is  it  not  their  time  to  die? 

Does  death  come  suddenly?  And  does  not  the 
blow  save  much  distress,  much  lingering  anguish, 
sleepless  nights  and  wearisome  days?  Is  the 
shock  of  a  moment  to  be  weighed  against  the 
agonies  of  months,  of  years  ?  When  we  fondly 
think  of  the  happiness  which  might  have  been, 
let  us  not  forget  the  misery  which  might  have 
been,  had  life  been  continued.  When  we  speak 
of  that  which  might  have  been,  we  speak  of  that 
concerning  which  our  ignorance  is  most  profound. 
God  knows  what  might  have  been  —  and  God 
alone. 


94  THE   TIME   OF    DEATH. 

Again  the  time  to  die  is  not  unfrequently 
deferred  till  the  completion  of  a  long  term  of  sick- 
ness and  pain ;  and  the  subject  of  divine  disci- 
pline is  ordained  to  linger  on  through  severe 
trials  of  body  and  mind,  now  hoping,  now  fear- 
ing, and  now  hoping  again,  before  the  period  of 
release  arrives.  And  is  it  not  a  blessed  release 
from  such  protracted  suffering,  from  such  a  long 
captivity  ?  May  not  death,  now  if  ever,  be  called 
an  angel,  when  it  bears  away  on  its  wings  a  tired 
soul  to  the  mansions  of  rest  ?  As  for  the  suffer- 
ing itself,  is  it  not  the  great  purifier,  the  most 
exalting  agent  of  God's  government  on  earth? 
And  however  pure  and  good  the  sufferer,  previous 
to,  or  at  any  period  of  the  suffering,  how  can  we 
ever  say  that  the  discipline  is  needless,  when  we 
are  taught  that  the  Saviour  himself  was  made 
perfect  through  suffering  ? 

If  the  former  question  be  here  again  put,  Why 
such  or  such  a  trial  is  appointed  to  one  and  not 
to  another  1  it  may  be  replied  that  one  may  be 
tried  as  efficiently  by  the  absence,  as  another  is 
by  the  infliction  of  pain.  It  is  evident  that  dif- 
ferent individuals  require  different  discipline. 
Who  of  us  would  undertake  to  order  the  whole 
discipline  of  a  fellow  being  ?  Who  of  us  could 


THE    TIME    OF   DEATH. 


95 


safely  order  his  own  ?  Why  not  calmly  leave  it 
in  the  hands  of  Him,  who  alone  can  order  it 
wisely;  taking  care  only  that  we  profit  by  it, 
whatever  it  may  be.  The  Omniscient 'only  can 
understand  who  ought  to  be,  as  he  alone  can 
determine  who  is  to  be  exercised  in  this  way, 
rather  thannin  that,  and  taken  away  at  one  time 
rather  than  another.  It  is  sufficient,  if  in  various 
times  of  death,  we  can  see  manifestations  of  good. 
Yet  further,  we  may  perceive  in  the  great 
uncertainty  and  variety  of  the  time  to  die,  advan- 
tages of  a  more  general  character.  Consider  how 
strongly,  beneficially,  and  kindly,  the  sympathies 
of  men  are  engaged  and  brought  into  action,  by 
the  numberless  differences  in  the  period  and  man- 
ner of  death.  If  all  men  were  to  die  at  the  same 
time,  and  in  the  same  way,  what  a  lack  of  inte- 
rest there  would  be,  compared  with  that  which  is 
now  felt  in  this  momentous  subject?  How  many 
affections  would  be  left  slumbering,  which  are 
now  roused  continually  to  a  full  development  of 
their  qualities  ?  How  monotonous  would  be  the 
feeling  connected  with  the  soul's  departure,  which 
is  now  exhibited  in  a  vast  diversity  of  intense 
action,  and  passion,  and  influence,  informing  and 
quickening  the  picture  of  human  life,  and  insti- 


96  THE    TIME    OF   DEATH. 

tuting  no  small  part  of  human  education  and  pro- 
bation 1  If  none  died  in  infancy,  would  not  the 
infant  be  a  less  holy  being  than  it  now  is,  and  the 
cause  of  less  holy  thoughts  in  others  1  If  it  were 
regarded  as  a  plant  which  was  necessarily  to 
grow  up,  and  become  sturdy,  and  bear  all  the 
storms,  and  receive  all  the  light,  and*dews,  and 
showers  of  life,  would  not  that  inexpressible 
something,  that  soft  shade  in  the  heart  be  want- 
ing, which  now  flits  across  it,  as  we  bend  over 
the  tender  bud  of  being,  and  think  unconsciously 
of  the  early  frost,  and  the  sudden  blight?  Or 
should  we  not  miss  sadly  from  the  records  of 
human  sensation,  those  feelings  which  arise  in 
the  breast  at  the  sight  of  a  child  on  its  bier, 

"  That  fairest  flower,  no  sooner  blown  than  blasted, 
That  silken  primrose,  fading  timelessly  "  ? 

There  is  a  power  in  such  a  sight  which  we  can- 
not do  without.  It  melts  down  the  common  pride 
of  life  in  an  instant ;  and  there  is  no  coarseness, 
no  hardness  in  the  character  and  heart,  which  it 
will  not,  for  a  time  at  least,  refine  and  soften. 

Sudden  death ;  what  call  is  there  among  all 
God's  providences,  so  distinctly  addressed  as  this 
is,  to  our  disposition  to  procrastinate  serious 
thought,  and  more  serious  duty  ?  If  there  were 


THE    TIME   OF   DEATH.  97 

no  sudden  deaths,  all  might  feel  privileged  to 
delay  till  death  could  be  discerned  in  the  dis- 
tance. While  on  the  other  hand,  if  all  deaths 
were  sudden,  the  frequency  and  commonness  of 
the  event  would  diminish,  if  not  destroy,  its 
startling  efficacy. 

Death  by  great  and  lingering  suffering,  is 
surely  a  most  afflictive  providence ;  but  when  I 
say  providence,  I  mean  of  course  not  only  a  pur- 
pose but  a  wise  purpose ;  and  the  wisdom  is 
partly  manifested  in  this  same  appeal  which  it 
makes  to  duty  and  virtuous  sympathies.  It  is 
especially  in  the  chamber  which  has  long  been 
devoted  to  sickness,  that  patience  hath  its  perfect 
work,  and  gradually  moulds  human  hearts  after 
the  divine  likeness,  and  prepares  mortals  for  im- 
mortality. The  daily  care,  the  nightly  watch, 
the  bitter  cup  made  sweet  by  the  love  which 
proffers  it,  the  constant  solicitude  on  one  side, 
the  speechless  gratitude  on  the  other,  the  thou- 
sand attentions  within  from  the  nearest  and  most 
loved,  and  the  kind  interest  expressed  from  with- 
out, by  friends  and  acquaintance,  and  even 
strangers ;  —  is  all  this  nothing  1  We  may  say, 
indeed  most  naturally,  that  we  would  be  spared, 
and  will  pray  to  tie  spared,  these  severe  trials : 
7 


98  THE    TIME    OF    DEATH. 

but  human  life  and  society  cannot  afford  to  lose 
them,  and  the  sympathies  which  attend  them; 
and  our  better  prayer  would  be,  that  we  may 
be  spared  nothing  which  infinite  Wisdom  shall 
see  to  be  conducive  to  the  good  of  our  fellow  be- 
ings and  our  own  souls. 

Thus  it  is  with  the  other  varieties  of  the  time 
of  death.  We  shall  see  particular  affections,  rare 
virtues,  special  charities,  springing  up  every- 
where from  the  field  of  mortality,  each  with  some 
characteristic  of  the  spot  which  produced  it. 
Death  runs  through  all  the  ages,  and  unites  them 
all.  It  forms  and  knits  together  bonds  as  strong 
as  those  it  breaks.  It  calls  virtue  out  from  every 
change  of  life,  and  from  every  chamber  and 
recess  of  the  heart.  And  the  more  affecting  it  is 
in  its  circumstances,  the  more  powerful  is  its 
sanctifying  influence;  for  what  do  we  mean, 
when  we  declare  that  a  death  is  a  peculiarly 
affecting  one,  if  we  do  not  mean  that  hearts  are 
more  deeply  touched,  and  good  feelings  flow 
forth  in  a  richer  flood,  than  is  ordinarily  the 
case. 

Beholding  these  things  steadfastly,  the  reflect- 
ing man  never  feels  himself  more  highly  elevated 
above  the  cold  region  of  doubt,  and  above  the 


THE    TIME    OF   DEATH.  99 

hoarse  cavils  of  infidelity,  than  when  he  is  con- 
templating those  very  events  which  are  perverted 
by  infidelity  for  its  own  support  and  purposes. 
He  is  never  more  firmly  convinced  that  there  is 
a  righteous  God  than  when  clouds  and  darkness 
are  round  about  him ;  he  never  loves  God  more 
faithfully,  nor  adores  him  more  trustingly,  than 
when  he  is  standing  in  the  midst  of  their  sha- 
dow. 

Nor  must  it  be  omitted,  that  much  of  the  bene- 
fit consequent  on  the  warnings  of  death,  depends 
on  the  various  and  indeterminate  seasons  of 
those  warnings.  If  the  time  to  die  were  one  and 
the  same  time  certainly  to  all,  and  that  necessa- 
rily at  an  advanced  age,  in  order  that  the  busi- 
ness of  life  might  go  on,  then  childhood,  youth 
and  manhood,  would  be  without  their  several 
and  especial  calls  of  preparation.  The  general 
call  would  sound  so  faintly  from  the  distance,  that 
it  would  be  little  heeded.  And  though  it  would 
grow  louder  as  it  drew  nearer,  the  ear  would 
hardly  measure  the  gradual  increase  of  its  sound. 
Childhood  would  not  listen  to  it.  Youth  would 
say,  there  is  time  enough  and  to  spare;  and 
manhood  would  declare,  that  there  were  yet 
many  years  in  store.  The  call  would  be  put  by, 


THE    TIME    OF    DEATH. 

much  more  commonly  than  it  is  now,  when  each 
separate  age  is  summoned  by  deaths  of  every 
day's  occurrence. 

If  even  now,  with  all  the  present  variety  and 
multiplied  intonations  of  warning,  men  are  so 
heedless  and  spiritually  improvident,  what  would 
they  be,  were  there  no  such  calls  to  oblige  them 
to  pause  and  think?  What  a  wise  provision 
is  this,  which  is  constantly  throwing  in  checks, 
among  the  excesses  to  which  our  nature  is 
prone !  The  young  and  the  beautiful,  whom 
youth  makes  ardent  and  confident,  and  beauty  is 
so  apt  to  make  vain,  cannot  always  be  ardent, 
confident  and  vain.  They  must  receive  some 
lesson,  some  hint  at  least  of  moderation  and  hu- 
mility, with  the  not  infrequent  intelligence,  that 
those  who  were  as  young  and  beautiful  as  they, 
have  dropped  into  the  tomb.  How  death  tem- 
pers the  wildness  of  the  world !  In  times  of  the 
most  general  gaiety,  there  are  always  contempo- 
raneous sorrows  —  some  hearts  breaking,  while 
others  are  bounding.  While  we  look  on  gaily 
thronging  crowds,  intent  on  the  business,  the 
pleasure  or  the  wonder  of  the  day,  we  cannot, 
we  cannot  forget,  that  some  houses  have  their 
windows  darkened  and  their  doors  closed,  be- 


THE    TIME    OF   DEATH.  101 

cause  within  them  are  the  sorrowful,  the  sick,  the 
dead.  Thus  are  our  passions  modulated.  Thus 
does  the  low  note  of  sadness  run  through  the 
music  of  life,  heard  in  its  loudest  swells,  present 
in  all  its  variations,  uttering  its  warning  accom- 
paniment throughout,  and  moderating  the  har- 
mony of  the  whole. 

Finally,  does  not  God  teach  us  by  all  the  vari- 
ety and  uncertainty  of  the  time  of  death,  that 
time  should  hardly  be  brought  into  the  estimate 
of  our  great  duties  and  concerns.  What  is  the 
difference  of  a  few  years  in  the  view  of  the  Al- 
mighty'? By  calling  us  away  from  earth  at  all 
ages,  he  plainly  intimates  that  it  is  as  nothing. 
It  should  be  as  nothing  in  our  view  as  in  his. 
Mortal  life  is  but  a  point.  Duty  is  before  us. 
All  sin  consists  in  doing  or  purposing  now,  that 
which  never  should  have  been  done  or  purposed, 
and  in  deferring  to  some  time  which  we  may 
never  see,  the  doing  of  that  which  should  be 
done  now.  " Now  is  the  accepted  time;  now  is 
the  day  of  salvation." 

SEPTEMBER  30,  1832. 


SERMON    IX. 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MOURNING. 

IT   18   BETTER   TO  GO   TO   THE    HOUSE    OF    MOURNING,    THAN    TO    GO 
TO   THE   HOUSE   OF   FEASTING. — EccleS.   vii.  2. 

THIS  may  doubtless  seem  a  hard  saying  to 
many.  They  will  confess  that  at  some  future 
time  they  may  be  compelled  to  go  to  the  house 
of  mourning,  but  that  it  is  ever  better  to  go  there 
than  to  the  house  of  feasting  is  hard  for  them  to 
conceive. 

Appearances  sanction  their  incredulity.  The 
house  of  feasting  beams  and  sparkles  with  light. 
Exhilarating  music  echoes  from  its  roof.  Pleas- 
ant company  meet  in  its  halls,  with  smiles,  and 
greetings,  and  compliments.  Misery  and  care 
show  not  their  faces,  or  not  their  own  faces, 
within  its  gates.  Its  air  is  perfume ;  its  hues  are 
those  of  flowers;  it  is  altogether  inviting  and 
delightful.  On  the  other  hand,  the  house  of 
mourning  is  darkened  by  the  outspread  wings  of 


THE    HOUSE   OF   MOURNING.  103 

the  angel  of  death.  Within  its  shadowed  cham- 
bers are  seated  its  motionless  inhabitants,  clad  in 
the  sable  garments  of  woe.  Its  silence  is  scarcely 
broken  but  by  unbidden  sobs.  It  seems  a  cheer- 
less dwelling.  Its  atmosphere  chills  the  bosom. 
The  countenances  of  its  guests  are  sad.  Plea- 
sure dares  not  enter  its  doors.  And  yet,  notwith- 
standing these  appearances,  the  wise  man  is 
right.  "  It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing, than  to  go  to  the  house  of  feasting." 

He  does  not  say,  however,  nor  does  he  mean, 
that  mirth  and  enjoyment  are  criminal.  The 
Creator  did  not  load  the  trees  and  the  vines  with 
fruit ;  he  did  not  people  the  land,  the  sea,  and  the. 
air  with  their  innumerable  throngs,  in  order  that 
man,  who  is  placed  in  dominion  over  them, 
should  mortify  himself  with  continual  fasting. 
The  Creator  did  not  call  into  being  the  endless 
variety  of  engaging  forms  which  dwell  on  earth 
or  float  in  heaven  ;  nor  did  he  cause  the  voice  of 
birds,  and  the  flow  of  waters,  and  the  rush  of 
winds,  to  make  music  together,  in  order  that 
man  should  have  a  distasteful  ear,  and  a  tuneless 
tongue,  and  be  the  only  mourner  among  his  joy- 
ful creatures.  Neither  were  the  light  beatings  of 
youthful  pulses  intended  to  be  all  repressed,  nor 


THE   HOUSE    OF    MOURNING. 

the  picturings  of  the  warm  imagination  to  be  all 
condemned,  by  the  frowns  of  a  stem  religion. 
When  the  proprieties  of  time  and  condition  invite 
to  enjoyment;  and  the  boundaries  of  God's  law 
will  not  be  transgressed  by  enjoyment,  religion 
freely  says  to  us,  Enjoy.  The  text  does  not  pro- 
scribe the  house  of  feasting,  as  always  unlawful ; 
it  does  not  forbid  our  going  to  it ;  but  it  tells  us 
that  it  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning. 
And  it  tells  us  the  truth ;  truth  which  admits  of 
satisfactory  proof. 

It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning,  be- 
cause we  obtain  more  improvement  there.  More 
valuable  lessons  are  imparted  there,  than  in  the 
house  of  feasting.  Impressions  of  the  most  so- 
lemn, and  not  only  so,  but  of  the  most  useful 
kind,  are  received  there.  Our  roving  thoughts 
are  chastened  by  the  influences  of  affliction.  Our 
hearts  are  instructed  in  the  sober  wisdom  of  life. 
A  discipline  is  administered  which  befits  our  con- 
dition, and  is  required  by  some  of  the  highest 
wants  of  our  souls. 

1.  The  ways  in  which  this  instruction  are 
conveyed  to  us,  may  be  made  apparent  by  reflec- 
tion. The  death  of  a  fellow  being,  the  departure 
of  one  of  our  friends  from  the  midst  of  us,  is  cal- 


THE   HOUSE    OF   MOURNING.  105 

culated  to  remind  us,  more  powerfully  than  almost 
any  other  event,  of  our  complete  dependence  upon 
God.  Can  any  more  important  truth  than  this, 
be  borne  in  upon  the  mind  1  And  plain  as  it  is, 
do  we  not  need  to  have  it  brought  before  us  in 
such  a  manner  that  we  cannot  put  it  by  ?  It  is 
no  light  thing,  that  a  voice  which  for  years  has 
answered  ours  in  the  tones  of  social  intercourse, 
should  be  struck  silent ;  that  a  form  which  has 
long  been  familiar  to  our  sight,  perhaps  one  of 
the  daily  blessings  of  our  eyes,  should  pass  away, 
and  be  seen  no  more.  Then  it  is,  that  we  cannot 
help  feeling  how  frail  we  are ;  and  how  far  be- 
yond our  own  power  it  is  to  keep  together  the 
circle  which  is  about  us,  to  hinder  one  after  ano- 
ther from  dropping  out  of  it,  or  to  maintain  our 
own  position  within  its  lessening  and  uncertain 
circumference.  Who  can  stay  the  progress  of 
disease,  either  of  body  or  of  mind  ?  Who  can 
guard  against  the  fatal  blows  of  sudden  casualty, 
which  leave  us  no  time  for  care  or  for  remedies  ? 
Who  hath  power  over  the  spirit  to  detain  the 
spirit  ?  We  are  altogether  in  the  hands  of  God. 
He  takes  away  the  breath  which  first  he  gave, 
and  then  we  die,  and  return  to  our  dust.  We 
depend  on  him. 


106  THE   HOUSE   OF   MOURNING. 

2.  With  this   sense   of  dependence  on  God, 
comes  humility  into  our  hearts.     We  cannot  but 
divest  ourselves  of  pride,  when  we  gaze  on  the 
poor,  unconscious,  and  decaying  relics  of  human- 
ity, and  think  how  quickly  and  submissively  all 
that  lived  and  moved,  was  praised   and  loved, 
and  waited    upon,    and  perhaps   envied,   must 
gather  itself  up  to  become  the  spoil  of  a  narrow 
tomb.     That  this  is  the  end  of  the  body,  and  of 
its   glories,   we  know.     We  know  also  that  the 
spirit  itself  is   as   little   able  as   the  body  is  to 
choose  and  command  its  own  life  and  destiny. 
That  it  escapes  the  fate  of  the  body,  and  survives, 
we  know  not,  till  we  are  told  by  the  eternal  Word. 
In  all  humility,  therefore,  shall  we  consider  the 
condition  of  the  spirit  as  well  as  the  mortal  frame 
of  man,  and  bless  God  who  has  told  us  what  we 
waited  to  know,  and   given  us   a  hope  full  of 
immortality. 

3.  With  humility  comes   a   godly   fear.     We 
cannot  presume  that  our  own  life  is  more  secure 
than   was  the  life  of  the  departed  neighbor   or 
friend ;  and  we  therefore  feel  as  if  we  ought  no 
longer  to  brave,  if  we  have  hitherto  braved,  the 
Divine  forbearance,    nor  delay  the   preparation 
which  we  need.     We  are  moved  to  look  on  our 


THE    HOUSE    OF   MOURNING.  107 

neglected  lamps,  and  resolve  to  fill  and  trim  them, 
before  the  door  is  shut  against  us  and  we  are  left 
in  outer  darkness. 

4.  With  godly  fear  come  holy  trust  and  earnest 
love.  God  is  revealed  to  us  not  only  as  the  om- 
nipotent Disposer,  who  does  what  he  wills  with 
his  own,  but  as  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth,  who 
will  do  right,  and  the  merciful  Father  of  his 
children,  who  chastens  us  for  oui  benefit,  and 
loves  those  whom  he  chastens.  Such  a  being  is 
not  to  be  feared  only,  but  chiefly  and  supremely 
to  be  loved.  And  this  is  our  conviction  in  the 
house  of  mourning.  It  is  a  fact,  and  one  which 
deserves  to  be  pondered,  that  the  love  of  God  is 
often  deepest  in  the  midst  of  affliction,  and  is  of 
that  confiding  character  which  rises  superior  to 
all  fear  except  that  which  is  godly,  and  which 
may  be  more  distinctly  expressed  by  the  term 
reverence. 

And  now  let  me  pause  to  ask,  whether  these 
impressions  and  thoughts  are  not  in  the  highest 
degree  beneficial  ?  Do  they  not  correspond  with 
our  true  condition,  as  mortal  and  immortal  men  ? 
But  do  they  come  to  us  in  the  house  of  feasting? 
If  they  ever  do,  it  is  but  rarely  and  uncertainly. 
There  is  no  place  for  them,  no  time  for  them  in 


108  THE   HOUSE    OF   MOURNING. 

that  house.  The  sounds  of  merriment  chase 
them  away,  except  from  prepared  minds,  which 
cannot  be  long  deluded,  and  from  which  the  con- 
victions of  man's  real  state  can  never  long  be 
absent.  But  if  we  are  not  well  established,  we 
are  apt  to  be  entirely  deceived  in  the  house  of 
feasting.  Devoted  to  immediate  enjoyment,  we 
think  not  whence  it  was  bestowed,  nor  how  soon 
it  may  be  disiirbed,  and  turned  into  mourning. 
We  become  giddy  and  thoughtless,  if  not  exceed- 
ingly vain  and  presumptuous.  Levity  may  be 
obstinate  as  well  as  wild,  and  in  her  own  conge- 
nial halls  she  refuses  instruction,  and  shuts  out 
wisdom.  There  is  imminent  danger  that  the 
heart  may  grow  hard  in  the  house  of  feasting. 
We  are  not  sensible  there  of  our  dependence  on 
God,  because  we  become  accustomed  to  prop  our- 
selves up  on  all  sides  by  our  vanity  and  self- 
dependence,  and  blind  ourselves  to  the  weakness 
and  insecurity  of  such  foundations.  In  the  house 
of  mourning  our  eyes  are  opened,  and  we  see  on 
what  loose  and  shifting  sands,  and  of  what  fra- 
gile materials,  our  poor  tabernacle  is  built.  We 
become  humble,  and  in  our  humility  confident 
and  secure. 
5.  But  in  pursuing  this  subject  further,  we 


THE   HOUSE    OF   MOURNING.  109 

shall  perceive,  that  in  addition  to  the  lessons 
already  named,  which  are  taught  us  in  the  house 
of  mourning,  we  are  initiated  into  a  discernment 
of  the  true  worth  of  our  pleasures.  We  are 
taught  to  know  that  the  allurements  with  which 
many  joys  of  earth  array  themselves,  are  very 
deceptive  and  transitory.  Thus  we  are  made 
willing  to  be  weaned  from  them,  seeing  that  they 
are  not  so  desirable  as  we  once  supposed  them  to 
be ;  that  they  have  promised  more  than  they  can 
possibly  perform :  that  they  lead  to  disappoint- 
ment certainly,  and  perhaps  to  shame.  We  see 
how  devoid  of  permanent  value  they  are,  in  their 
most  innocent  state,  and  how  worse  than  worth- 
less when  they  unfit  us,  which  is  their  frequent 
tendency,  for  the  appreciation  and  inheritance  of 
those  real  joys  which  so  immeasurably  surpass 
them.  We  are  moved  to  ask  ourselves  how  we 
can  any  longer  be  devoted  to  those  frivolous  pur- 
suits, which  now  show  themselves  in  all  their 
frivolousness,  and  which  obtain  no  approbation 
either  from  the  judge  in  our  own  breast,  or  the 
Judge  who  sitteth  in  heaven.  Such  an  appeal, 
self-urged,  is  well  fitted  to  make  us  pause  in  a 
foolish  career,  and  collect  ourselves,  and  weigh 
folly  with  wisdom,  and  vanity  with  truth,  and 
earth  with  Heaven. 


110  THE    HOUSE   OF   MOURNING. 

6.  Again,  we  see  in  the  house  of  mourning,  in 
a  stronger  light  than  perhaps  anywhere  else,  the 
indispensable  importance  of  a  good  life.  Virtue 
is  revealed  there  in  its  true  excellence,  its  fair  pro- 
portions and  character.  All  doubt  of  its  worth 
vanishes.  All  suspicions  of  its  reality  are  dis- 
missed and  forgotten.  We  are  skeptics  no  more. 
In  seriousness  and  good  faith  we  pay  to  it  our 
hearts'  homage.  We  see  that  the  distinction  be- 
tween righteousness  and  unrighteousness  is  a  real 
distinction,  the  most  real  of  any,  and  that  death, 
and  friends,  and  the  universal  will,  require  it  to 
be  made  and  marked.  A  solemn  and  settled 
peace  hallows  the  remains  of  a  righteous  man, 
and  follows  them  to  the  grave.  Respect,  affec- 
tion, and  honest  gratitude  show  themselves  true 
mourners.  There  is  nothing  forced  or  affected  in 
the  tribute  which  is  rendered.  It  is  the  free-will 
offering  of  the  heart,  natural  and  unbidden. 
Nothing  is  more  plain  and  sure  than  the  testi- 
mony which  is  given  to  virtue  in  the  house  of 
mourning.  Nor  is  there  anything  more  profita- 
ble. It  confirms  those  impressions  which  the 
world,  by  much  of  its  intercourse  would  weaken. 
It  establishes  a  faith,  which  the  world,  by  many 
of  its  cares  and  contentions,  would  wear  away. 


THE    HOUSE    OF   MOURNING.  Ill 

It  convinces  us  that  a  good  name  is  the  most 
honorable  title,  and  that  all  the  wealth  which 
ever  occupied  the  grasp,  or  the  dreams,  of  avarice, 
is  dross,  is  dust,  to  the  riches  of  an  upright,  use- 
ful, and  benevolent  life. 

7.  I  could  hardly  call  together  and  classify  all 
the  beneficial  reflections  which  are  suggested  in 
the  house  of  mourning.  I  will  only  observe  in 
the  seventh  and  last  place,  that  we  are  there  more 
than  usually  disposed  to  mutual  forgiveness  and 
charity.  Can  we  nurture  hostile  emotions  in  this 
house  of  peace  and  equality  ?  A  soul  has  gone 
from  it,  to  meet  its  Judge.  It  cannot  be  long  be- 
fore all  who  are  left  to  mourn  or  sympathize, 
must  follow  that  soul  to  the  only  infallible  tribu- 
nal. Where  will  be  our  petty  animosities  then  ? 
Where  the  disputes  with  which  we  have  troubled 
each  other's  existence?  Where  the  envyings 
and  strifes,  suspicions  and  evil  speakings  of 
which  we  have  been  guilty  ?  Where  will  they 
be,  and  how  will  they  look  1  Is  it  right  for  us, 
is  it  safe,  to  make  it  our  occupation  to  multiply 
sorrow  in  the  world  ?  Are  not  the  unavoidable 
miseries  of  life  enough  in  number  and  in  weight, 
but  we  must  be  still  increasing  the  load  to  others 
and  ourselves  ?  Spirits  all  in  armor  sat  in  the 


112  THE   HOUSE    OF   MOURNING. 

heathen  paradise,  but  they  cannot  come  into  the 
Christian  heaven.  Can  we  not  forgive  offences, 
we,  who  have  so  deeply  and  continually  offend- 
ed ?  Can  the  righteous  God  be  merciful,  to  us 
unmerciful?  Will  Christ  salute  us  as  blessed 
children  of  his  Father,  who  have  nourished  in 
our  bosoms  animosity  and  revenge  against  our 
brethern?  These  and  similar  considerations 
force  themselves  upon  us  in  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing. It  would  be  strange  if  they  left  us  entirely 
as  soon  as  we  departed  from  it.  It  is  more  like- 
ly that  they  will  remain  with  us,  at  least,  a  little 
while,  and  influence  our  conduct,  at  least  in  some 
degree,  when  we  return  into  the  world. 

Valuable  are  the  influences  of  the  house  of 
mourning  !  It  is  better  that  we  should  go  to  it 
than  to  the  house  of  feasting.  The  lessons  of  the 
one  cannot  so  well  be  spared  as  the  pleasures  of 
the  other.  Feasted  and  filled,  unchecked,  una- 
larmed,  unsofteried,  we  are  too  apt  to  forget 
our  dangers,  our  mercies,  and  our  obligations. 
Earthly  desires  and  passions,  temporal  objects 
and  interests,  claim  us  as  wholly  their  own. 
But  they  seldom  dare  to  go  with  us  to  the  man- 
sion of  bereavement  and  sorrow.  On  its  threshold 
they  loosen  their  grasp,  and  fall  back,  and  we  en- 


THE   HOUSE    OF    MOURNING.  113 

ter  in  alone,  to  be  spoken  to  by  other  monitors,  to 
be  sobered  and  subdued.  By  the  sadness  of  our 
countenances  our  hearts  are  made  better.  We 
see  light  in  darkness,  and  hear  a  voice  of  comfort 
and  joy  from  the  chambers  of  mourning  and 
death. 

JULY  29,  1827. 


SERMON    X. 


CONSOLATIONS    OF    RELIGION. 

BLESSED  BE  GOD,  EVEN  THE  FATHER  OF  DUE  LORD  JESUS  CHRIST, 
THE  FATHER  OF  MERCIES,  AND  THE  GOD  OF  ALL  COMFORT,  WHO 
COMFORTETH  US  IN  ALL  OUR  TRIBULATION.  — 2  Cor.  1.  3. 

WELL  may  we  join  in  this  ascription  of  the 
Apostle,  and  say,  while  we  contemplate  the  char- 
acter and  attributes  of  Him  whom  the  Gospel 
reveals  as  God,  Blessed  be  God  !  When  we  con- 
sider what  deities  they  were  whom  the  heathen 
adored  as  gods,  well  may  we  raise  our  grateful 
regards  to  the  God  and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  say,  Blessed  be  God  !  And  when  we 
reflect  how  various  and  severe  are  the  ills  of  this 
our  mortal  life,  or  when  we  ourselves  are  suffer- 
ing under  their  infliction,  well  may  we  pour  out 
our  souls  in  thanksgiving  to  the  Father  of  mercies 
and  the  God  of  all  comfort,  and  exclaim,  Blessed 
be  God !  Thrice  blessed  be  that  gracious  and 
most  merciful  Being,  who  pitifully  beholds  our 
sorrows,  and  comforts  us  in  all  our  tribulation. 


CONSOLATIONS    OF    RELIGION.  115 

We  have  need  of  comfort,  we,  the  feeble  sons  of 
men,  created  of  dust,  born  to  mourn  and  to  die, 
uncertain  in  our  prospects,  insecure  in  our  pos- 
sessions, frail,  ignorant  and  sinful;  and  there  is 
not  one  of  us,  who,  in  the  view  of  what  his  situa- 
tion demands,  and  what  Christianity  bestows, 
ought  not  to  repeat,  Blessed  be  God.  From  him 
are  strength  and  grace,  from  him  are  wisdom, 
and  power,  and  victory.  He  enlightens  and  in- 
spires, he  soothes  and  saves.  He  sent  his  first- 
born Son  to  redeem  the  world  ;  he  gives  his  holy 
Spirit  freely  to  those  who  ask  it;  he  has  prepared 
unknown  and  inconceivable  joys  for  those  who 
love  him.  Who  will  not  thank  and  praise  his 
holy  name,  and  joining  with  all  creatures  whose 
hearts  and  tongues  are  inspired  by  his  love,  with 
all  the  pure  and  just,  with  all  the  sanctified  and 
redeemed,  with  apostles,  and  martyrs,  and  saints, 
and  with  angel  and  archangel  who  surround  his 
throne,  cry,  Blessed  be  God ! 

The  consolations  of  religion  form  a  delightful 
and  almost  inexhaustible  theme  of  contemplation 
and  discourse.  The  more  they  are  considered, 
the  more  full  and  abundant  do  they  appear.  Let 
us  inquire  concerning  these  consolations,  and  ex- 
amine what  they  really  are,  and  as  we  increase 


116  CONSOLATIONS    OF    RELIGION. 

or  refresh  our  acquaintance  with  them,  we  shall 
very  probably  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  were 
we  to  describe  Christianity  by  its  most  distin- 
guishing characteristic,  we  should  call  it  a  reli- 
gion of  consolations. 

If  we  begin  with  the  first  steps  and  principles 
of  our  religion,  we  shall  perceive  comfort  and 
consolation  broadly  and  intelligibly  marked  upon 
them  all.  Contemplate  the  divine  attributes; 
contemplate  them  one  by  one.  How  strongly 
does  each  impress  the  mind  with  the  sentiment  of 
relief  and  support ! 

With  what  magnificent  assurance  of  protection 
does  the  idea  of  God's  Almightiness  visit  the  soul, 
making  it  certain,  beyond  suspicion  or  doubt, 
that  in  all  its  weaknesses  and  faintings  it  will  be 
upheld  and  sustained  by  that  unfailing  arm, 
which  upholds  and  sustains  the  illimitable  crea- 
tion. 

How  does  the  attribute  of  omnipresence  encir- 
cle us  about  with  safe  conduct  and  guardianship, 
as  with  an  unassailable  host  of  heavenly  angels. 
How  does  it  encompass  us  on  every  side,  as  with 
a  sevenfold  shield,  at  home  or  in  foreign  climes, 
on  sea  or  land,  by  night  and  day.  It  cannot  for- 
sake, though  all  else  forsake  us ;  it  cannot  remove, 


CONSOLATION'S    OF    RELIGION.  117 

though  the  earth  be  removed.  It  is  with  us  eve- 
rywhere, more  enveloping  than  the  overarching 
sky,  nearer  than  the  vital  air.  Who  is  alone, 
when  God  is  with  him?  And  where  can  any 
one  be,  where  God  is  not?  "Thou  compassest 
my  path  and  my  lying  down ;"  "  thou  hast  beset 
me  behind  and  before."  Is  there  not  consolation 
in  this  surrounding  presence,  this  impregnable 
defence,  this  unalienable  protection,  this  watch- 
fulness without  fatigue,  this  adherence  without 
desertion  or  change,  this  shadow  without  dark- 
ness, the  sheltering  and  nursing  shadow  of  the 
Almighty's  wings?  Does  not  peace  and  a  con- 
fiding sense  of  security  settle  down  on  our  com- 
forted hearts,  however  desponding  or  afflicted 
they  may  have  been,  when  we  repeat  those 
trusting  words  of  the  Psalmist,  "As  the  moun- 
tains aie  round  about  Jerusalem,  so  the  Lord  is 
round  about  his  people,  from  henceforth,  even  for 
ever"? 

"  From  henceforth,  even  for  ever."  Yet  fur- 
ther treasures  of  comfort  are  contained  in  those 
last  words,  which  speak  of  God's  eternity.  That 
power  which  now  supports,  will  still  support  us ; 
that  presence  which  now  surrounds  and  guards, 
will  still  surround  and  guard  us.  Consoling 


118  CONSOLATIONS    OF   RELIGION. 

indeed  it  is  to  think,  that  amidst  all  which 
changes,  decays  and  dies  around  us,  that  which 
is  our  chief  dependence  is  immutable  and  immor- 
tal, not  to  be  affected  by  time,  not  to  be  disturbed 
by  adversity. 

Then  there  is  the  attribute  of  God's  omni- 
science. Great  is  the  consolation  to  be  derived 
from  the  thought  of  that  wisdom  to  which 
nothing  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  is  un- 
known ;  which  though  it  often  appoints  that 
which  afflicts  us,  always  ordains  that  which  is 
best  for  us,  and  can  never  be  mistaken  with 
regard  to  what  we  really  require,  however  our 
own  wishes  and  plans  may  be  contradicted  and 
disappointed. 

What  is  the  justice  of  God,  but  our  resort  and 
redress,  and  the  clear,  interior  light  of  his  throne, 
even  when  it  is  shrouded  to  our  eyes  with  thick- 
est clouds  and  darkness?  What  is  it  but  an 
assurance  that  no  lasting  wrong  shall  be  done,  or 
suffered  to  be  done  to  us ;  that  our  griefs  shall 
have  their  balance  and  their  recompense ;  that 
all  seeming  inequalities  shall  finally  be  smoothed 
away  from  the  path  of  Divine  Providence,  and 
that  no  real  injuries  shall  befall  us,  except  those 
which  we  inflict  upon  ourselves. 


CONSOLATIONS    OF    RELIGION.  119 

The  attribute  of  God's  loving  mercy  and  kind- 
ness is  all  consolation.  It  tells  us  of  a  Being 
who  has  nothing  harsh  or  vindictive  in  his  char- 
acter; who  is  always  tender  and  compassionate 
toward  us,  though  never  weakly  and  injudi- 
ciously so;  who  pities  us  as  a  father  pities  his 
children,  and  loves  even  when  he  chastens  us, 
and  chastens  because  he  loves  us. 

How  can  the  heart  fail  to  be  strengthened,  and 
refuse  to  be  comforted,  when  thus  it  may  repose 
itself,  with  all  its  sorrows,  burthens  and  incapaci- 
ties, on  infinity,  on  perfection,  on  the  immutable 
Rock  of  eternal  ages  ?  Are  we  sufficiently  accus- 
tomed to  contemplate  the  divine  attributes  in 
this  their  light  of  consolation?  Should  we  not 
attend  more  to  this  conspicuous  and  most  ador- 
able characteristic  of  the  whole  nature  of  God  1 
And  if  we  did,  should  we  not  bear  with  a  more 
resigned  and  contented  spirit,  not  only  the  great 
afflictions  of  life,  but  the  minor  troubles  and 
crosses  of  our  condition?  Should  we  not  per- 
form our  allotted  parts  more  patiently  and  cheer- 
fully, if  we  impressed  upon  our  minds  such  an 
habitual  perception  of  the  Supreme  Being,  that 
every  feature  and  mystery  of  his  nature  should 


120  CONSOLATIONS    OF    RELIGION. 

look  down  upon  us  at  all  times  with  the  expres- 
sion of  benignity,  protection  and  consolation. 

But  consoling  as  are  these  views  of  the  attri- 
butes of  God,  Jesus  Christ  has  afforded  us  yet 
more  comfort  by  the  manner  in  which  he  has 
revealed  to  us  the  Father.  No  one  can  read  the 
Gospels  with  attention,  without  being  struck  by 
the  close  and  endearing  affinity  which  is  mani- 
fested there  between  the  Creator  and  his  crea- 
tures. The  interest  which  the  Great  Supreme  is 
represented  as  taking  in  us,  may  be  called,  if  it 
be  not  too  familiar  to  call  it  so,  strict  and  per- 
sonal. Our  Saviour  does  not  so  much  give  us 
general  views  of  the  nature  of  God,  as  he  brings 
the  attributes  into  immediate  contact  with  our- 
selves and  our  fortunes.  We  behold  a  God  and 
a  Father,  who  not  only  supports  us,  together  with 
the  rest  of  his  creation,  and  provides  for  us  by  that 
wisdom  and  goodness  which  are  the  life  and  joy 
of  the  universe,  but  who,  though  the  whole  globe 
which  we  inhabit  is  but  a  speck  among  his 
works,  and  we  ourselves  are  so  inconstant  and 
frail,  actually  sets  a  value  upon  us.  and  draws 
himself  as  near  to  each  individual  soul,  as  if  that 
one  soul  were  the  one  object  of  his  devoted  care, 
and  there  was  nothing  else  to  share  his  atten- 


CONSOLATIONS    OF    RELIGION.  12£ 

tion.  Are  ye  not  of  more  value  than  many  spar- 
rows? Yet  not  one  of  them  falleth  to  the  ground 
without  the  knowledge  of  your  Father.  The 
very  hairs  of  your  head  are  all  numbered.  Ex- 
pressions of  this  kind  occur  so  frequently  in  the 
Gospels,  that  they  throw  a  peculiar  air  of  tender- 
ness over  them,  and  cause  them  to  express  a  par- 
ticularity of  regard  in  the  dealings  of  God  with 
men,  which  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  char- 
acteristics of  those  sacred  histories,  as  it  is  of  the 
whole  Christian  scheme.  God  is  represented 
throughout  as  our  friend ;  mighty  and  glorious 
as  in  the  pictures  drawn  by  the  Jewish  lawgiver, 
and  the  prophets  of  the  old  dispensation,  but  still 
as  our  friend,  our  nearest  and  best  friend. 

And  this  is,  in  fact,  the  essence  of  the  doctrine 
of  grace ;  the  doctrine  that  God  is  with  us  and 
within  us,  and  always  ready,  not,  however,  inter- 
fering with  our  liberty,  to  assist  and  guide  us;  to 
suggest  to  us  those  thoughts  of  purity  and  virtue, 
which  are  powerful,  like  spells,  to  drive  away 
the  dark  spirits  of  sin  and  despair  ;  to  inspire  us 
with  strength  in  the  hour  of  weakness,  and  forti- 
tude in  the  time  of  distress,  and  to  shed  light 
through  the  intricate  and  gloomy  passes  of  our 
earthly  pilgrimage.  What  can  be  more  consola- 


122  CONSOLATIONS  OF  RELIGION. 

tory  than  to  believe,  as  Christianity  would  have 
us  believe,  that  the  infinite  and  eternal  God  takes 
this  direct  interest  in  our  happiness,  and  that  he 
is,  in  reality,  watching  over  us  and  in  us,  every 
moment,  to  mark  how  we  improve  the  merciful 
intentions  of  his  discipline,  and  to  aid  every  good 
disposition  which  we  may  manifest,  and  every 
good  resolution  which  we  may  form?     Can  that 
spirit  yield,  or  yield  long,  before  any  shock  of  mis- 
fortune, which  realizes  its  intimate  union  with 
the   Father   of  spirits'?    Can   that  soul  remain 
without   comfort  in  any  affliction,  which  hears 
within  itself  the  still  small  voice  of  God,  whisper- 
ing compassion  and  peace?     Can  it  sink  in  the 
stormy  waters,  when  it  may  call  upon  its  Lord? 
Can  he  murmur  who  can  pray  ?     Can  the  child- 
ren of  the  bridechamber  mourn,  when  the  bride- 
groom  is   with   them  ?     When   God  communes 
with  us,  and  we  with  God,  does  not  an  elevation, 
a  calm  dignity,  a  holy  reliance  follow  that  com- 
munion,  which  no  grief  can  disturb?     Is  it  fit 
that  the  friend  and  companion  of  the  Almighty 
should  be  dismayed  at  outward  and  temporary 
ills?     Is   it  possible  that   he  should?     Is  it  not 
comfort  enough  to  an  humble  and  contrite  and 
sorrowing  heart,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  dwells  in  it 


CONSOLATIONS    OF    RELIGION.  123 

as  in  a  temple?  Shall  the  voice  of  complaint, 
shall  an  accent  of  distrust  be  heard  in  that  conse- 
crated place?  Shall  fear  and  despondence  ap- 
pear before  that  gracious  presence?  None  of 
these  things  can  be.  The  Spirit  of  God  is  even 
now,  as  once  at  the  holiest  of  baptisms,  in  the 
form  of  a  dove.  It  sheds  divine  peace  in  every 
receiving  bosom.  It  broods  over  the  confused 
elements  of  the  agitated  mind,  till  darkness  be- 
comes light,  and  chaos  is  transformed  into  order 
and  beauty. 

With  these  sources  of  Christian  consolation,  is 
connected,  and  I  may  say  necessarily  connected, 
the  Christian  doctrine  of  our  immortality.  This 
doctrine  is  established  by  deduction  from  the 
revealed  nature  of  the  Deity,  and  by  the  express 
declarations,  confirmed  by  the  actual  resurrection, 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  If  anything  be  true  in 
Christianity,  this  is  true ;  and  it  completes  those 
consolations  of  religion,  which,  without  it,  would 
be  incomplete,  faint  and  ineffectual.  Not  much 
comfort  in  sorrow  would  be  derived  even  from  a 
conviction  of  the  constant  watchfulness  and  im- 
mediate presence  and  protection  of  God,  if  we 
could  be  left  to  suppose  that  death  wrested  us 
from  his  guardianship,  and  put  a  dark  and  final 


124  CONSOLATIONS    OF    RELIGION. 

close  to  our  connection  with  his  spirit.  But  after 
•what  Christianity  taught  us  of  the  Creator,  we 
may  venture  to  say  it  was  impossible  that  it 
should  not  have  also  taught  the  immortality  of 
his  intelligent  creatures.  It  does  teach  with  per- 
fect distinctness  that  glorious,  and,  as  we  may 
call  it,  finishing  truth,  that  the  existence  of  man 
will  be  commensurate  with  the  existence  of  God ; 
that  the  love  and  the  truth  and  protection  which 
the  great  Father  now  exercises  towarcl  his  child- 
ren, will  lead  them  through  the  gate  of  death ; 
and  that  the  communion  which  he  now  holds 
with  them,  intimate  as  it  is,  will  be  yet  more 
close  and  sensible,  when  the  Lamb  shall  walk 
with  their  refined  and  beatified  spirits  through 
the  bowers  of  an  eternal  Eden,  and  the  golden 
streets  of  the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  This  is  giv- 
ing the  seal  of  eternity  to  all  that  is  compassion- 
ate and  soothing,  and  exalting  in  our  knowledge 
of  God.  This  is  the  key-stone,  which  locks  and 
binds  together  the  grand  arch  of  Christian  conso- 
lation. When  our  tears  are  flowing  in  calamity, 
they  cease  to  flow,  or  flow  on  without  bitterness, 
when  we  lift  our  eyes  to  that  eternal  state  where 
they  shall  all  be  wiped  away.  We  resign  our 
friends,  with  hope  and  comfort  in  our  mourning, 


CONSOLATIONS   OF    RELIGION.  125 

because  we  know  that  they  are  not  dead  but 
sleeping,  and  as  safe  in  the  arms  of  God  as  when 
they  retired  to  rest  on  earth,  after  the  labors  of 
the  day  —  perhaps  more  safe,  for  passion  is  hush- 
ed, and  temptation  is  over.  In  all  our  troubles 
we  shall  regard  not  only  the  wisdom  and  kind- 
ness of  their  purpose,  but  the  brevity  of  their 
duration,  and  with  the  apostle  Paul,  "  reckon 
that  the  sufferings  of  this  present  time  are  not 
worthy  to  be  compared  with  the  glory  which 
shall  be  revealed  in  us." 

Such  are  the  consolations  of  our  religion.  They 
are  not  all,  but  may  be  accounted  the  highest.  If 
we  are  Christians,  they  are  our  consolations,  for 
they  cannot  be  separated  from  the  faith  which  is 
in  Christ.  And  how  can  we  have  greater  and 
better?  What  other  consolations  can  we  expect 
or  desire,  when  we  possess  these?  There  are 
those,  indeed,  who,  rejecting  or  slighting  these,  fly 
to  other  sources  of  comfort.  And  what  are  these 
other  ?  Some  wait  for  the  consolations  of  time, 
not  thinking  that  before  these  can  arrive,  time  to 
them  may  be  no  more.  Some  trust  to  a  stern, 
hard,  barren  endurance.  Some  fly  to  a  criminal, 
degrading,  stupefying,  artificial  oblivion.  And 
some  even  fly  to  a  self-inflicted  death.  Are  these 


126  CONSOLATIONS    OF  RELIGION. 

things  to  be  called  consolations'!  If  they  are,  the 
Christian  will  never  be  ashamed  or  slow  to  put 
his  own  by  the  side  of  them,  and  demand  a  com- 
parison. He  will  never  be  backward  to  put  all 
that  ennobles  human  nature  by  the  side  of  all 
that  debases,  or  excites  but  to  depress  it ;  all  that 
unites  it  with  God  and  heaven  and  eternity,  by 
the  side  of  all  that  drags  it  down,  and  binds  it 
down  to  sensuality,  and  earth,  and  time,  and  dust. 
He  will  stand  upon  his  faith,  and  the  consola- 
tions of  his  faith,  feeling  that  he  stands  upon  a 
height,  supernal,  immovable,  everlasting. 

MAY  10,  1829. 


SERMON    XL 


BLESSING    GOD    IN    BEREAVEMENT. 

THE    LORD    GAVE,  AND   THE   LORD    HATH   TAKEN   AWAY;   BLESSED  BE 
THE  NAME   OF   THE    LORD. — Job   i.  21. 

CAN  we  adopt  this  sentiment  of  the  afflicted  pa- 
triarch, in  our  losses  and  afflictions?  Can  we 
say,  as  well  when  the  Lord  takes  away,  as  when 
he  gives,  Blessed  be  his  name  ? 

It  is  easy  to  bless,  easy  to  understand  why  we 
should  bless,  easy  to  acknowledge  that  we  ought 
fervently  to  bless,  when  the  Lord  gives;  but  do 
we  not  hesitate,  question,  doubt,  practically  refuse 
to  render  that  offering,  when  the  same  Lord  who 
has  given,  and  given  all,  takes  away,  even  but  a 
part  ?  When  the  field  of  our  possessions  lies  am- 
ple and  green  before  us,  and  everything  prospers 
which  we  touch ;  when  we  go  abroad  to  success- 
ful business,  happy  meetings,  or  healthful  exer- 
cise and  return  to  a  home  where  every  place  is 
filled,  every  face  wears  a  smile  and  a  welcome, 


128  BLESSING    GOD    IN    BEREAVEMENT. 

and  the  whole  air  is  pervaded  by  comfort  and 
cheerfulness,  then  we  readily  allow  that  we  should 
bless  the  name  of  Him,  by  whom  all  this  is 
caused  and  given.  We  may  be  deficient  in  grat- 
itude, and  in  the  expression  of  it,  but  at  the  same 
time  acknowledge  that  we  ought  to  be  deeply 
grateful.  When,  however,  the  scene  is  changed, 
and  our  prospect  becomes  bare  and  wintry ; 
when  distress  meets  us  in  the  countenances  of 
those  we  love,  casting  its  shadow  on  our  own 
countenance  and  heart ;  when  a  place  is  made 
void  in  our  dwelling,  which  we  had  been  long 
accustomed  to  see  occupied  by  a  form,  familiar, 
endeared,  bright  with  kindness  and  sympathy  — 
can  we  be  grateful  then?  Can  we  bless  the 
name  of  the  Lord  then  ?  Why,  indeed,  should 
we  be  grateful,  or  attempt  to  be  so  ?  What  rea- 
son is  there,  we  may  ask,  that  we  should  bless 
the  name  of  the  Lord  for  affliction  and  death? 
Bear,  we  may;  submit,  we  may;  be  resigned,  we 
may;  —  but  why  should  we  bless  for  darkness 
and  for  suffering? 

Let  us  answer  that  question  to  our  reason  and 
our  hearts.  Taking  especially  the  case  of  the 
death  of  friends,  let  us  consider  whether,  when 
we  lose  even  the  best,  the  dearest,  there  is  not  oc- 


BLESSING   GOD   IN   BEREAVEMENT.  129 

casion  for  gratitude  and  thanksgiving.  We  shall 
find,  upon  reflection,  that  death  is  not  merely  to 
be  held  as  a  loss,  either  to  those  who  die,  or  those 
who  survive;  that  death  may  be  significant  of 
gain,  much  rather  than  of  loss,  to  the  departed 
and  the  bereaved ;  that  while  it  strikes  with  one 
hand,  it  quickens,  renews,  and  transforms  with 
the  other;  that  while  it  deprives  us  of  some 
things,  it  endows  us  with  many  more,  and  more 
valuable  things;  and  that  in  this  view  there  is 
ample  cause  to  bless  the  name  of  the  Lord  when 
he  taketh  away,  both  on  account  of  those  who 
are  taken,  and  of  those  who  are  left  mourning 
behind. 

Death  is  a  benefactor  to  those  who  die.  For 
the  wisest  ends  our  Maker  has  implanted  within 
us  a  strong  love  of  life,  of  life  even  in  this  world  ; 
a  love  of  life  so  strong,  that  in  most  cases  we 
could  hardly  be  induced  to  determine  for  our- 
selves the  precise  moment  of  rendering  it  back. 
And  therefore  the  Maker  himself  determines  that 
moment  for  us.  And  when  they  die,  who  die 
in  God's  own  time,  it  is  best  for  them  that  they 
should  go  away;  because  it  is  always  best  that 
they  should  depart  this  life,  for  whom  a  higher 
life  is  prepared.  An  exchange  of  worlds  is  best 

9 


130  BLESSING   GOD   IN    BEREAVEMENT. 

even  for  those  who  have  grossly  abused  the  pre- 
sent life ;  because  it  is  well  known  to  Infinite 
Wisdom,  when  the  time  of  probation  has  been 
sufficiently  extended,  when  the  souls  of  friends 
have  been  sufficiently  tried,  and  when  the  disci- 
pline and  awards  of  another  scene,  should  in 
their  deep  mystery  be  commenced.  But  most 
surely  is  the  exchange  best  for  the  good:  for 
those  who  have  sought  the  Lord's  favor  on  earth ; 
for  those  who  in  meekness,  and  kindness,  and  pa- 
tience, in  sincerity  and  godliness,  have  been 
made  "meet  to  be  partakers  of  the  inheritance  of 
the  saints  in  light."  Is  this  world  all?  Cer- 
tainly not.  They  never  considered  it  as  all. 
They  never  considered  it  as  anything  in  compar- 
ison with  the  world  to  come.  They  knew  its  glo- 
ries to  be  shadows.  They  felt  its  joys  to  be  fleet- 
ing. They  had  enjoyed  seasons  of  revelation  in 
which  glimpses  of  heaven  had  been  opened  to 
them,  and  assurance  had  been  given  to  their  in- 
most heart,  that  they  were  born  to  higher  know- 
ledge, and  purer  bliss,  and  wider  freedom,  and 
closer  intimacy  with  God  and  their  Saviour,  than 
could  be  afforded  them  on  earth:  and  therefore 
it  was  their  faith,  their  choice,  their  hope,  that 
they  should  not  be  always  bound  to  earth,  but 


BLESSING   GOD   IN    BEREAVEMENT.  131 

should  one  day  be  called  to  rise  up  and  claim 
their  inheritance.  In  this  conviction  they  had 
lived.  By  this  conviction  they  had  been  helped 
to  bear  their  trials,  and  distribute  their  charities, 
and  extract  a  sweetness  out  of  every  lot.  In  this 
conviction  they  had  died;  supported  in  suffering, 
calm  in  the  last  conflict,  looking  for  light,  yield- 
ing up  their  souls,  and  their  soul's  possessions 
into  the  hands  of  God.  And  now  that  the  con- 
viction has  been  realized  to  the  holy  dead,  and 
that  which  was  hope  has  become  fruition,  are 
they  not  themselves  blessing  God  for  his  un- 
speakable gift ;  and  shall  we  not  join  with  them 
in  blessing  his  holy  name?  As  we  love  them, 
and  cherish  their  memory,  and  revere  their  piety, 
we  would  not  contradict  them,  we  would  not 
interrupt  the  praises  they  are  singing.  It  is  to 
their  heavenly  Father,  and  not  to  a  stranger,  to 
their  Father's  house,  and  not  to  a  strange  and 
doubtful  place,  that  they  have  gone.  It  is  the 
Lord,  and  none  other,  the  infinitely  wise  and 
gracious  Lord,  who  has  taken  them  away,  and 
taken  them  to  himself,  and  it  is  but  a  meet  recog- 
nition of  his  wisdom  and  his  goodness,  and  of  the 
happiness  which  he  has  bestowed  on  those  whom 
we  love  that  we  should  say,  "  Blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord  !  " 


132  BLESSING    GOD   IN   BEREAVEMENT. 

And  for  what  did  we  pray,  when  we  first  were 
made  aware  that  our  friends  were  about  to  leave 
us  ?  When  we  knew  them  to  be  as  it  is  com- 
monly expressed,  in  danger  ;  when  we  hung  over 
them  in  their  mortal  weakness  and  extremity, 
and  felt,  as  we  never  felt  before,  how  hard  it 
would  be  to  part  with  them,  for  what  did  we 
pray?  In  the  impulse  of  our  feeling,  and  surely 
without  blame,  we  prayed  that  they  might  live. 
God  permits  us  so  to  pray,  both  for  ourselves  and 
for  our  friends,  because  we  have  much  to  do  in 
this  life,  and  much  to  learn,  and  much  to  receive  ; 
and  the  domestic  relations  are  very  dear,  and  the 
household  affections  are  very  strong.  We  prayed, 
as  we  hung  over  them,  that  they  might  live. 
And  the  prayer  was  granted  —  not  to  our  desire, 
but  to  our  need  —  not  to  the  temporal  meaning  of 
our  words,  but  to  their  better  and  eternal  mean- 
ing. A  life  was  granted  them,  pure,  free,  safe, 
real,  unlike  that  "  death,  called  life,  which  us 
from  life  doth  sever,"  life  in  a  better  world,  a 
fairer  country,  a  healthier  clime.  No  cold  is 
there,  nor  blight,  no  tears,  no  pride,  no  penury. 
Life  has  there  a  clearer  and  fuller  meaning  than 
it  can  have  here.  The  epithets,  dim,  uncertain, 
troubled,  transitory,  can  no  more  be  applied  to  it 


BLESSING   GOD   IN   BEREAVEMENT.  133 

No  longer  can  it  be  compared  to  a  vapor,  a 
dream,  the  path  of  an  arrow,  a  pilgrimage  in  the 
desert.  It  is  life  eternal  and  blessed.  This  was 
the  life  which  was  given,  instead  of  that  which 
was  asked.  "  He  asked  life  of  thee,  and  thou 
gavest  it  him,  even  length  of  days,  for  ever  and 
ever."  One  upward  thought,  one  Christian  reflec- 
tion will  show  us,  that  when  our  righteous  friends 
have  been  taken  away  by  commission  from 
above,  we  should  say  for  their  sakes,  "  Blessed 
be  the  name  of  the  Lord !  " 

Should  we  not  also  say  it  for  our  own  sakes  ? 
For  what  should  we  bless  the  Lord  more  sin- 
cerely, more  fervently,  than  for  the  confirmation 
of  our  religious  convictions ;  for  the  increased 
purity  and  depth  of  our  best  affections ;  for  the 
enlargement  of  our  experience ;  the  discipline  of 
our  passions;  the  growth  of  our  spiritual  nature? 
And  when  is  all  this  vouchsafed  as  it  is  in  the 
time  of  bereavement  1  Then  it  is,  if  ever,  that 
we  gain  a  large  supply  of  life's  true  wisdom,  and 
are  convinced  that  it  is  the  principal  thing.  Then 
it  is,  if  ever,  that  our  hearts  are  strongly  stirred, 
and  the  fountains  of  feeling  pour  forth  all  their 
waters.  Even  if  we  have  long  been  established 
and  settled  in  the  principles  of  a  holy  faith,  yet 


134  BLESSING    GOD   IN   BEREAVEMENT. 

the  worth  of  those  principles  is  brought  home  to 
us  as  it  was  never  before,  acquiring  a  new  addi- 
tion of  personal  and  practical  weight,  and  mani- 
fested to  our  very  sight  and  touch.  And  if,  un- 
happily, the  world  has  hitherto  been  "  too  much 
with  us  f  "  if  fashion  has  been  doing  its  utmost 
to  make  us  frivolous ;  if  collision  with  men  and 
their  selfishness  has  been  hardening  our  sensi- 
bilities, and  tending  to  render  us  skeptical  con- 
cerning spiritual  interests  and  heavenly  treas- 
ures ;  there  is  something  in  the  season  of  domes- 
tic bereavement  which  suddenly  melts  away  the 
ice  which  has  been  curdling  round  our  hearts, 
and  sets  our  better  nature  free.  Shall  not  the 
name  of  the  Lord  be  blessed  for  this  1  Oh  that 
the  touch  of  his  hand,  and  the  lesson  of  the  hour, 
might  abide  !  But  too  often  the  good  impression 
of  the  time  is  suffered  to  fade  away,  and  the  world 
to  resume  its  power,  and  the  ice  again  to  curdle 
round  the  heart. 

If  it  should  be  so,  the  fault  is  only  ours.  Bless- 
ed be  the  name  of  the  Lord  for  the  word  which 
he  has  spoken,  whether  we  have  heard  or 
whether  we  have  forborne  to  hear,  whether  we 
have  remembered  or  whether  we  have  forgot- 
ten it. 


BLESSING    GOD   IN    BEREAVEMENT.  135 

He  teaches  us  plainly,  by  taking  away  our 
righteous  friends,  that  there  is  a  preparation  to 
be  made,  and  that  our  friends  have  made  it.  He 
causes  us  to  feel  that  virtue  and  godliness  are  the 
greatest  gain  that  can  possibly  be  gathered ;  that 
wealth  is  not  valuable,  that  earthly  renown  is 
not  to  be  mentioned,  that  learning  is  folly,  that 
genius  itself  is  emptiness,  compared  with  Chris- 
tian holiness.  Those  may  be  and  have  been 
abused,  and  turned  to  the  worst  and  lowest  uses, 
but  this  is  always  pure  and  incorruptible.  By 
those  we  may  have  been  hurt  and  wronged,  but 
never  by  this,  which  has  never  been  near  us  but 
to  help  us,  and  soothe  us.  Those  cannot  pass 
beyond  the  grave,  and  must  be  left  on  earth 
where  they  belong;  but  this  passes  with  the 
spirit,  holiness  passes  with  the  emancipated  spirit 
through  the  gates  of  death  to  the  bosom  of  the 
Father.  The  Lord  has  taught  us  what  is  truly 
enduring.  He  has  taught  us  impressively  and 
at  home.  Blessed  be  his  name  ! 

A  check  has  been  interposed  in  our  path.  A 
shadow  has  been  thrown  across  it.  The  sun  of 
life  has  set  for  this  day,  and  the  darkness  which 
comes  down  invites  us  to  reflect  on  our  way,  and 
reveals  to  us  the  stars  of  heaven.  It  is  a  check 


136  BLESSING    GOD   IN   BEREAVEMENT. 

which  we  would  not  have  invited,  a  darkness 
which  we  would  not  have  chosen ;  but  our  spirit 
within  us  acknowledges,  in  its  own  more  sobered 
state,  in  the  multitude  and  fulness  of  its  retired 
thoughts,  in  its  gentler  tone  and  more  humble 
and  charitable  dispositions,  the  uses  of  the  or- 
dination which  has  been  laid  upon  us.  Taught 
by  sorrow,  we  know  better  how  to  sympathize 
with  the  sorrow  of  others,  and  can  better  esti- 
mate the  value  of  others'  sympathy.  This  truth 
is  learned  in  stillness.  And  hopes  break  out  upon 
us  from  above,  of  which  we  hardly  knew  the 
glory  before;  and  we  learn  that  the  day  has  one 
sun,  but  that  the  night  has  many.  This  truth  is 
learned  in  darkness.  The  Lord  is  teaching  us 
by  bereavement  to  be  kinder  to  our  brethren,  and 
more  faithful  to  himself.  Blessed  be  his  name  ! 

But  even  if  we  should  not  be  able  distinctly  to 
specify  and  enumerate  to  ourselves,  the  benefits 
which  are  derived  to  our  souls  in  the  season  of 
bereavement,  there  is  always  one  religious  infer- 
ence which  we  can  draw,  of  the  simplest  nature, 
and  calculated  to  be  of  the  greatest  service.  The 
Lord  gave  us  our  friends.  He  gave  us  those  dear 
ones  whose  communion  with  us  has  constituted 
so  great  a  part  of  our  happiness.  For  what  pur- 


BLESSING   GOD   IN   BEREAVEMENT.  137 

pose  did  he  give  them,  and  with  what  intention  ? 
Certainly  for  our  benefit,  and  to  do  us  good,  and 
because  he  loved  us.  This  we  know  from  our 
experience.  Why  then  did  he  take  them  away  ? 
Not  with  a  different  purpose  surely.  It  is  the 
same  Lord.  He  did  not  give  with  one  intention, 
and  take  away  with  another  which  is  contrary 
to  it.  He  did  not  give  to  do  us  good,  and  take 
away  to  do  us  harm.  Now,  as  before,  there  is 
love,  and  love  only  in  his  heart  towards  us.  Let 
us  feel  that  God  is  always  love,  and  can  be  no- 
thing else,  and  we  can  say,  even  though  blind 
and  in  tears,  Blessed  be  his  name ! 

With  the  Gospel  in  our  hands,  with  Christ  to 
guide,  with  his  saints  to  cheer  us,  let  us  try  to  be 
at  least  as  elevated  in  our  views,  at  least  as  spirit- 
ually minded  as  that  afflicted  and  chastened  pa- 
triarch whose  words  we  have  borrowed  ;  at  least 
as  wise  and  calm  as  that  old  man  of  a  long 
departed  age,  lord  of  tents  and  flocks,  sitting  in 
twilight,  before  the  day-spring  from  on  high  had 
risen  on  those  eastern  plains.  If  he,  in  the  time 
of  dimness,  could  see  cause  to  utter  that  beautiful 
form  of  faith  and  submission,  we  surely  may  re- 
peat it  in  light.  As  to  life,  and  its  essential  rela- 
tions, they  are  the  same  now  as  they  were  then ; 


138  BLESSING    GOD   IN    BEREAVEMENT. 

and  death,  and  its  circumstances,  are  the  same. 
The  messengers  of  sorrow  and  calamity  came 
to  him  one  after  another,  announcing  bereave- 
ment upon  bereavement  till  he  found  himself 
stripped  and  destitute ;  and  so,  in  our  own  day, 
does  one  affliction  often  press  hard  on  the  foot- 
steps of  another,  with  a  suddenness  and  rapidity 
which  confuse  and  bewilder  us.  But  it  is  the 
Lord  of  life  and  death,  eternally  enduring  from 
age  to  age,  who  sent  those  calamities  to  him, 
and  who  sends  repeated  afflictions  to  many  in 
these  latter  days.  The  only  difference  is,  that 
faith  has  a  clearer  vision  now,  and  stands  on  a 
stronger  foundation.  The  grave  is  as  near,  but 
heaven  is  nearer,  because  the  grave  has  been 
opened  by  the  Son  of  God.  And  more  fervently, 
and  with  a  more  cheerful  heart,  should  we,  in 
our  sorrows,  bless  the  name  of  the  Lord,  because 
he  is  called  by  us  the  God  and  Father  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

SEPTEMBER  23,  1833. 


SERMON    XII. 


REMEMBRANCE    OP    THE    RIGHTEOUS. 

THE   RIGHTEOUS  SHALL  BE   IN   EVERLASTING  REMEMBRANCE. 

Psalm  cxii.  6. 

THE  earth  holds  many  more  inhabitants  than 
those  who  walk  upon  its  surface  in  material 
shape.  The  human  forms  which  at  any  given 
period  dwell  on  it  visibly  together,  are  but  a  part 
of  its  mighty  population.  Graves  and  tombs 
hide  its  dead  from  sight,  but  not  from  memory ; 
from  the  outward,  but  not  from  the  inward  eye. 
Neither  the  green  turf  nor  the  salt  wave  can 
effectually  separate  tbe  dead  from  the  living ;  the 
dead  who  live,  from  the  living  who  must  die. 
Generations  of  men  succeed  each  other,  but  do 
not  wholly  pass  away.  Multitudes  of  those  who 
were,  remain  to  the  thoughts  and  affections  of  the 
multitudes  who  are,  and  by  the  mind's  survey 
and  computation  to  be  numbered  with  them. 
"  The  righteous  shall  be  in  everlasting  remem- 
brance." 


140  REMEMBRANCE   OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS. 

And  as  death  is  not  oblivion,  we  may  be  led  to 
hope  even  from  this  fact,  that  it  is  not  destruction. 
The  dead  live  on  earth.  The  soul,  by  a  natural 
and  necessary  power,  preserves  them  from  anni- 
hilation. Is  not  this  a  suggestion  at  least,  that 
they  actually,  consciously  live  ?  Memory  is  an 
intimation,  a  shadow,  a  kind  of  vision  of  immor- 
tality. The  spirit  of  man  refuses  to  consider  the 
old  times  as  wholly  blank  and  void,  as  utterly 
silent.  It  sees  forms  which  have  ceased  to  be 
corporeal ;  it  hears  voices,  which  for  long  years 
have  not  spoken  with  tongues.  It  fills  the  past 
with  the  life  and  intelligence  which  once  existed, 
and  which  it  will  not  surfer  to  become  extinct. 
Does  not  the  soul  thus  point  out  and  claim  for  it- 
self its  immortal  affinities  ?  Are  not  here  a 
strong  and  holy  union  and  consent  between  mem- 
ory which  looks  back,  and  tells  of  that  which  is 
gone,  and  faith  and  hope  which  look  forward, 
and  proclaim  that  which  is  coming  7  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  acts  of  memory  are  of  the  nature 
of  miracles,  continually  worked  for  the  conviction 
of  unbelief.  Why  may  not  faith  and  hope  raise 
the  dead,  when  memory  does  raise  them  ? 

"  The  righteous  shall  be  in  everlasting  remem- 
brance." It  is  they  who  come  to  the  resurrec- 


REMEMBRANCE   OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS.  141 

tion  of  life.  It  is  they  only  who  are  remembered 
with  a  holy,  living,  embalming  remembrance. 
Others  are  remembered  with  a  fatal  remem- 
brance ;  remembered  to  be  doomed  ;  according  to 
that  scripture  which  saith,  "  The  memory  of  the 
just  is  blessed  ;  but  the  name  of  the  wicked  shall 
rot." 

When  we  come  to  survey  them,  how  vast  are 
the  numbers  of  those  who  live  in  memory.  They 
emerge  from  the  dimness  of  the  primitive  gene- 
rations ;  they  come  from  the  farthest  isles ;  they 
start  up  from  among  heaps  of  ruins  which  once 
were  cities ;  they  rise  from  old  battle-fields,  from 
village  church-yards,  from  the  depths  of  seclu- 
sion, from  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  They  fill  the 
earth  with  immortal  souls.  Their  memory  is 
blessed.  The  present  generation,  as  it  names 
their  names,  and  recalls  their  virtues,  would 
not,  and  cannot  divest  itself  of  the  impression 
that  they  are  in  being,  and  that  itself  is  not  here 
alone,  but  surrounded  by  an  innumerable  com- 
pany. 

I.  The  world  has  a  memory;  whereby  it 
treasures  up  the  names  and  deeds  of  those  who 
have  been  its  lights,  its  ornaments,  its  benefac- 
tors. It  holds  in  everlasting  remembrance,  those 


142  REMEMBRANCE    OF    THE   RIGHTEOUS. 

who  while  they  walked  on  earth  walked  with 
God,  and  served  their  age.  It  remembers  the  sa- 
ges who  have  framed  wise  and  equal  laws,  who 
have  originated  and  carried  into  effect  useful  in- 
ventions, who  have  been  instrumental  in  banish- 
ing cruel  or  degrading  superstitions,  who  have 
taught  the  truth  in  love.  It  remembers  those  no- 
ble spirits  who  have  been  found  faithful  among 
the  faithless,  pure  among  the  corrupt,  thoughtful 
among  the  thoughtless ;  those  martyrs  who  have 
laid  down  their  lives  for  truth  and  freedom ;  those 
great  and  good  men,  who  in  any  and  every  way, 
by  resisting  oppression,  by  relieving  distress,  by 
emancipating  the  prisoner,  by  instructing  the  ig- 
norant, by  publishing  peace  and  salvation  to 
those  who  are  near  and  those  who  are  afar  off, 
have  contributed  to  the  intelligence,  virtue  and 
happiness  of  their  race.  As  the  world  grows 
wiser  and  better,  it  remembers  with  increasing 
regard  those  who  were  once  persecuted  by  it  for 
righteousness'  sake ;  it  remembers  and  blesses 
those  whom  it  once  reproached  and  made  to  suf- 
fer wrongfully,  because  they  were  more  just  and 
righteous  than  itself,  while  it  permits  rottenness 
to  creep  insensibly  over  the  names  of  the  wicked, 
however  proud  and  renowned  they  may  once 
have  been. 


REMEMBRANCE    OF   THE   RIGHTEOUS.  143 

II.  The  number  of  those  who  live  in  remem- 
brance,  increases  before  us,  when  we  consider 
that  the  several  nations  and  smaller  communities 
of  the  earth  have  each  a  memory,  for  those  who 
are  seldom  or  never  mentioned  or  known  beyond 
their  respective  boundaries.     How  many  are  the 
learned  and  the  holy,  how  many  the  gifted,  and 
benevolent,  and  devoted,  who  are  held  in  high 
honor  and  long  remembrance  in  those  sections  of 
the  globe  where  their  talents  and  virtues  have 
been  exhibited,  and  their  duties  have  been  done. 
Names  are  household  words  in  one  country  or 
district,  which  have  not  reached  to  another,  and 
which  yet  are  altogether  worthy  of  their  local 
shrines.     Every  city  has  its  list  of  scholars,  and 
orators,  and  philanthropists,  and  eminent  men. 
Every  village  can  reckon  its  patriarchs,  its  teach- 
ers, its  saints.     The  images  of  all  these  occupy 
their  wonted  places.     Their  spirits  are  attached 
to   their   familiar  haunts,  and  are  seen   among 
them.     And  thus  their  good  influence  remains, 
after  their  good  work  is  accomplished.     Much  of 
the  virtue  of  the  present  generation  is  derived 
from  the  remembrance  of  the  righteous  departed; 
for  the  remembrance  of  the  righteous  is  a  remem- 
brance of  righteousness,  of  that  which  caused 


144  REMEMBRANCE    OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS. 

them  to  be  remembered.  It  comes  clothed  with 
holy  associations,  which  are  all  the  more  holy  as 
the  garment  of  the  flesh  has  been  removed.  It 
increases  the  number  of  virtuous  thoughts.  It  may 
be  brought  to  the  aid  of  virtuous  resolutions.  It 
is  a  pure  memorial,  which  operates  as  an  induce- 
ment and  encouragement  to  purity,  and  as  a 
check  upon  impure  suggestions  and  unworthy 
conduct.  It  is  indeed  one  of  the  richest  portions 
of  that  inheritance  which  is  left  by  one  genera- 
tion to  another.  And  thus  not  only  is  the  memo- 
ry of  the  just  blessed,  but  they  who  cherish  it  are 
blessed  by  it.  It  blesses  as  it  is  blessed.  Happy 
is  that  people  who  have  many  righteous  to  re- 
member, and  who  preserve  the  remembrance  of 
them  with  care  and  reverence.  And  happy  are 
they,  who  convinced  that  all  fame  is  poor,  com- 
pared with  the  remembrance  of  the  righteous, 
make  it  their  chief  ambition  to  secure  that  remem- 
brance. Whatever  some  may  think,  it  is  the 
only  remembrance  which  shall  be  everlasting; 
the  only  remembrance  which  contains  the  ele- 
ments of  life,  and  honor,  and  blessing  for  ever- 
more. 

III.   As  dwellers  in  this  world  for  a  season,  as 
pilgrims  passing  through  it  in  our  turn,  we  re- 


REMEMBRANCE   OF    THE   RIGHTEOUS.  145 

member  those  who  have  passed  on  before  us,  and 
who  live  in  the  world's  memory.  As  members 
of  subordinate  communities,  we  remember  the 
names  which  are  sanctified  in  those  communities. 
But  these  are  far  from  being  all  who  are  remem- 
bered. Each  circle  of  friends,  each  separate 
family  has  a  memory ;  and  the  forms  which  are 
retained  by  it,  are,  of  all  others,  the  most  dis- 
tinct, the  most  vivid,  and  the  most  dear.  What 
numbers,  what  numbers  are  they,  of  whom  the 
world  has  never  heard,  and  never  will  hear,  but 
who  live  forever  in  the  bosoms  of  kindred.  Be- 
neath every  domestic  roof,  there  are  more  than 
are  counted  by  the  stranger.  Spirits  are  there, 
whom  he  does  not  see,  but  who  are  never  far 
from  the  eyes  of  the  household.  He  does  not  see 
the  sprightly  child,  who  once  was  there  in  mor- 
tal health  and  beauty  ;  but  the  child  is  yet  there 
in  spiritual  presence,  before  the  vision  of  father 
and  mother,  and  wherever  they  may  go,  will  go 
with  them.  He  does  not  see  the  venerable  form 
which  once  sat  there  in  placid  love  and  dignity ; 
but  it  has  not  departed  from  that  house ;  son  and 
daughter  behold  it ;  it  looks  on  them  with  wont- 
ed kindness,  and  speaks  to  them  still  the  words 
of  counsel.  He  does  not  see  the  devoted  wife, 
10 


146  REMEMBRANCE    OF    THE   RIGHTEOUS. 

whom  once  he  might  have  seen  there,  the  presi- 
ding spirit  of  order,  and  comfort,  and  peace,  rul- 
ing her  children  with  gentleness  and  discre- 
tion, and  causing  her  husband  to  realize  what  a 
refuge,  and  sanctuary,  and  heaven-on-earth  is 
home ;  but  from  that  home  she  has  not  wholly 
departed,  nor  will  ever  depart,  for  her  remem- 
brance is  there  perpetually.  Though  the  body 
has  been  borne  for  the  last  time  from  its  doors, 
her  spirit  remains  in  its  influence  over  the  affec- 
tions and  the  deportment  of  the  living.  To  them 
she  utters  her  voice,  and  by  them  she  is  heard  ; 
and  the  husband  is  not  wholly  alone,  and  the 
tender  minds  of  the  children  are  moulded  insensi- 
bly by  the  very  name  of  her  who  watched  over 
their  infancy.  There  is  something  of  this  in 
every  house,  which  love  and  virtue  entitle  to  the 
name  of  home  ;  in  every  family  where  mortality 
has  taught  the  lessons  of  immortal  faith  and 
hope.  Steps  are  on  the  stair,  but  not  for  common 
ears;  and  familiar  places  and  objects,  restore 
familiar  smiles,  and  tears,  and  acts  of  goodness, 
which  are  seen  by  memory  alone.  Who  shall 
enumerate  the  blessed  multitude  of  those,  who, 
dead  to  all  on  earth  beside,  live  always  in  the 
hearts  of  those  who  knew  them  and  loved  them. 


REMEMBRANCE   OF    THE   RIGHTEOUS.  147 

The  body  may  be  far  distant,  but  the  spirit  is 
brought  near  by  remembrance,  and  dwells  ever 
at  home.  The  mortal  remains  of  a  friend  may 
be  covered  by  a  foreign  soil,  and  strange  and 
heedless  feet  may  tread  on  the  spot  where  they 
lie  ;  but  the  soul  returns  to  its  own  country,  and 
communes  with  its  own  kindred.  That  which 
was  corruptible  may  have  been  committed  to  the 
deep,  and  the  track  of  the  receding  vessel  be  the 
only  path  to  the  place  of  its  sepulture ;  but  the 
waves  cannot  roll  over  the  uplifted  and  imperish- 
able spirit.  He  who  was  absent,  is  present. 
The  members  of  his  family  behold  him  un- 
changed. 

IV.  I  have  said  that  the  world  has  a  memory ; 
that  each  community  of  men  has  its  memory; 
that  each  family  has  its  memory ;  and  that  by 
all  these  the  righteous  are  kept  in  everlasting  re- 
membrance. But  families  are  broken  up,  and 
dispersed,  and  obliterated  ;  nations  rise  and  fall, 
and  their  memory  perishes  with  them ;  and  the 
world  itself  shall  grow  old,  and  languish,  and  die. 
What  then  should  we  be,  and  what  would  even 
righteousness  avail,  if  there  were  no  other  mem- 
ory but  that  of  our  friends,  our  country,  or  the 
world?  But  there  is  One  who  will  endure^ 


148  REMEMBRANCE   OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS. 

though  the  earth  and  the  heavens  shall  perish, 
the  First  and  the  Last,  of  whose  years  there 
shall  be  no  end.  He  remembers  his  creatures 
with  an  all-comprehending  and  eternal  memory ; 
and  especially  he  remembers  those  who  remem- 
ber and  put  their  trust  in  him.  Memories  on 
earth  go  out,  one  after  another,  like  lamps  when 
there  is  no  one  to  feed  them ;  but  in  heaven  they 
are  more  lasting  than  the  stars,  and  they  burn  in 
fadeless  lustre  around  the  throne  of  the  Almighty. 
"Our  days  are  gone  like  a  shadow,  and  we  are 
withered  like  grass ;  but  thou,  O  Lord,  shall  en- 
dure for  ever,  and  thy  remembrance  throughout 
all  generations."  Blessed  hope,  glorious  truth  ! 
the  righteous  shall  be  in  everlasting  remembrance 
with  God.  And  if  he  remembers,  what  does  it 
matter  if  every  one  else  forgets  1  Some  there 
may  have  been,  so  humble,  so  solitary,  so  desti- 
tute, that  they  have  left  none  behind  them  to 
mourn  or  remember  them  ;  and  many  there  have 
been,  of  whose  existence  the  world,  and  all  who 
are  in  the  world,  become  gradually  unconscious. 
But  they  were  righteous,  and  they  stand  full 
in  remembrance  of  God.  And  to  be  in  the  re- 
membrance of  God,  what  is  it  but  to  be  in  his 
presence?  To  be  in  the  remembrance  of  the 


REMEMBRANCE    OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS.  149 

Eternal  One,  what  can  it  be  but  to  live  before 
him  in  his  light,  and  glory,  and  joy  eternally? 
Here,  in  the  strictest,  as  well  as  highest  sense, 
everlasting  remembrance  must  be  everlasting  life. 
How  earnestly,  then,  we  should  strive  ourselves, 
and  persuade  all  to  live,  not  in  the  show  and 
pride  of  a  dreaming  life,  but  in  the  remem- 
brance of  God !  "  Then  they  that  feared  the 
Lord  spake  often  one  to  another ;  and  the  Lord 
hearkened  and  heard  it,  and  a  book  of  re- 
membrance was  written  before  him  for  them  that 
feared  the  Lord,  and  that  thought  upon  his  name. 
And  they  shall  be  mine  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts, 
in  that  day  when  I  make  up  my  jewels  ;  and  I 
will  spare  them,  as  a  man  spareth  his  own  son 
that  serveth  him." 

Let  our  names,  O  Lord,  be  written  in  that  book 
of  remembrance,  among  those  who  fear  thee,  and 
think  upon  thy  name  !  Let  us  be  thine,  O  Lord 
of  hosts,  in  that  day  when  thou  makest  up  thy 
jewels ;  and  spare  us,  as  a  man  spareth  his  own 
obedient  son ! 

DECEMBER  14,  1834. 


SERMON    XIII. 

NOTHING    WITHOUT    CHRIST. 

FOR   WITHOUT   ME  YE   CAN   DO   NOTHING. — John  XV.  5. 

PECULIAR  solemnity  attends  this  declaration  of 
Jesus  to  his  disciples,  from  the  circumstance  of 
its  being  pronounced  among  his  last  words,  on 
the  night  before  his  death.  The  occasion  of  the 
Supper  which  he  instituted  at  that  time,  pro- 
bably suggested  the  form  of  the  context,  in  which 
he  compared  himself  to  a  vine,  the  Father  being 
the  husbandman,  and  his  disciples  to  the  branches. 
"  As  the  branch  cannot  bear  fruit  of  itself,  except 
it  abide  in  the  vine,  no  more  can  ye,  except  ye 
abide  in  me.  I  am  the  vine,  ye  are  the  branches. 
He  that  abideth  in  me,  and  I  in  him,  the  same 
bringeth  forth  much  fruit;  for  without  me  ye  can 
do  nothing."  His  assurance  to  them  is,  in  all 
this  portion  of  the  discourse,  that  as  the  branches 
derive  their  life  and  nutriment  through  the  vine, 
or  stock,  so  do  they  derive  their  spiritual  life  and 


NOTHING   WITHOUT   CHRIST.  151 

nutriment  from  him;  that  as  the  branches  are 
connected  with  each  other  by  their  common  junc- 
tion to  the  vine,  so  will  their  brotherly  love  con- 
tinue and  be  perfected  only  by  their  constant 
union  with  him  and  his  love;  that  as  the 
branches  could  produce  no  clusters  if  separated 
from  the  vine  and  deprived  of  its  juices,  so  neither 
could  they  bring  forth  the  fruits  of  the  spirit  and 
the  works  of  their  heavenly  mission,  except 
through  direct  supplies  of  grace  from  him  and 
his  righteousness. 

"For  without  me  ye  can  do  nothing."  This 
is  the  conclusion.  The  disciples  felt  its  truth,  and 
its  weight.  They  felt  it  afterwards  even  more 
strongly  than  they  did  then.  When  their  Mas- 
ter, their  wise  and  gentle  and  all-suffering  Mas- 
ter, who  had  been  with  them  so  long  and  loved 
them  so  well,  was  taken  from  them,  they  felt,  in 
their  desolateness,  that  they  could  indeed  do  no- 
thing without  him.  When  they  were  left  to 
themselves,  to  act  for  themselves,  they  felt,  in  the 
conviction  of  their  own  personal  destitution  and 
dependence,  that  they  could  indeed  do  nothing 
without  him ;  that  if  they  were  to  proceed  at  all 
they  must  proceed  as  his  apostles,  in  the  way 
which  he  had  pointed  out;  that  if  they  were  to 


152  NOTHING   WITHOUT    CHRIST. 

receive  supernatural  aid,  they  must  look  for  it 
through  his  promises ;  that  if  they  were  to  act 
with  any  unity  of  purpose  and  affection,  and  any 
concentration  of  will  and  effort,  they  must  be 
united  in  attachment  and  subjection  to  him,  their 
living  Head  ;  that  if  they  were  to  teach  and  reform 
the  nations  and  move  the  world,  they  must  do  so 
only  through  his  truth,  his  wisdom,  and  his  dying 
and  redeeming  love.  What  could  they  do  with- 
out him?  By  him  they  had  been  chosen  from 
the  world,  and  made  the  companions  of  his  won- 
drous life ;  from  him  they  had  received  all  the 
knowledge  and  power  which  caused  them  to  dif- 
fer in  any  way  from  common  men ;  through  him 
they  had  been  cheered  with  that  immortal  faith, 
without  which  they  would  have  been  of  all  men 
the  most  miserable ;  through  him  had  been  im- 
parted to  them  the  gifts  and  comforts  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  tongues  of  fire  and  hearts  of  constancy, 
according  to  his  faithful  engagement.  What 
could  they  do  without  him  ? 

Can  we  suppose  the  attempt  on  their  part  of 
acting  independently  of  their  former  Master,  and 
without  a  primary  reference  to  his  assistance,  his 
doctrines,  and  his  commandments  ?  How  would 
they  have  appeared  as  instructors  and  reformers, 


NOTHING    WITHOUT   CHRIST.  153 

not  to  say  apostles,  each  one  with  his  own  theory 
of  religion  and  morals;  following  the  path  of  his 
own  impulses ;  borrowing  at  one  time  from  the 
philosophy  of  Greece,  and  at  another  from  the 
philosophy  of  Rome;  taking  exception  to  this 
and  that  declaration  of  Jesus ;  making  abate- 
ments here  and  there  from  the  supremacy  of  his 
authority ;  saying  but  little  of  his  death,  and  less 
of  his  resurrection  ;  passing  lightly  over,  and  suf- 
fering to  fade  from  their  memory,  the  events  of  his 
life  and  ministry,  as  things  merely  external  and 
historical,  and  not  sufficiently  spiritual ;  neglect- 
ing to  commemorate  him,  according  to  his  dying 
request  in  the  communion  of  bread  and  wine ; 
speaking  and  teaching  seldom  or  never  in  the 
name  of  Christ;  putting  no  trust  in  his  strength 
or  promises?  How  would  they  have  appeared? 
What  would  probably  have  been  the  result  and 
effect  of  their  instructions ;  and  what  the  charac- 
ter of  the  Christianity  which  they  would  have  left 
to  us? 

But  they  are  wronged  by  the  very  supposition. 
Merely  to  suppose  that  they  could  have  chosen 
to  act  thus,  seems  to  be  doing  injustice  to  those 
faithful  disciples,  injustice  alike  to  their  affections 
and  their  understanding.  They  knew  that  with- 


154  NOTHING   WITHOUT   CHRIST. 

out  their  Master  they  could  do  nothing,  and  they 
had  no  thought  or  desire  to  do  anything  without 
him.  Their  Acts  and  their  Epistles  show,  that 
Christ  was  ever  on  their  tongues,  and  ever  in 
their  hearts.  In  his  name,  and  relying  on  his 
aid,  they  went  forth  into  the  world,  preaching 
Christ,  the  power  of  God  and  the  wisdom  of  God, 
and  declaring  that  there  was  no  other  name 
through  which  men  might  be  saved.  What  he 
had  delivered  to  them  they  taught  to  others. 
They  preached  his  word,  his  cross,  his  resurrec- 
tion. In  him  they  lived,  in  him  they  labored,  in 
him  they  suffered,  and  in  him  they  triumphed. 
They  did  nothing  without  him.  The  conse- 
quence was  salvation  to  themselves,  and  salvation 
to  the  world. 

The  case  of  the  apostles  is  our  own  case,  my 
friends,  with  the  exception  only  of  the  peculiari- 
ties of  their  situation  and  mission.  Without 
Christ  we  can  do  nothing ;  nothing  in  the  con- 
cerns and  ways  of  our  highest  moral  life ;  no- 
thing in  relation  to  those  objects  of  faith  and  hope 
and  duty  which  he  came  to  render  clear  and 
sure  to  the  spirits  of  men.  Without  him,  the 
soul  is  left  without  its  support  and  guide.  With- 
out him,  the  soul  struggles,  but  accomplishes 


NOTHING   WITHOUT    CHRIST.  155 

nothing;  meditates,  inquires,  searches,  but  is 
made  certain  of  nothing ;  pursues  various  ends, 
but  arrives  at  nothing.  Without  "  the  true  light," 
it  gropes  and  wanders  in  the  ancient  darkness ; 
without  "the  true  bread,"  it  hungers  and  faints; 
without  "  the  true  vine,"  it  brings  forth  no  fruit. 
Perhaps  we  are  not  aware,  or  do  not  suffi- 
ciently consider  how  much  we  owe  to  Christ  in 
the  insensible  participation  of  those  general  bene-' 
fits,  which  have  been  bestowed  by  Christianity 
on  the  community  in  which  we  live.  These 
general  benefits  are  the  aggregate  of  the  senti- 
ments and  convictions  which,  in  every  age,  indi- 
viduals have  derived  immediately  from  Christ, 
and  have  preserved  and  imparted,  and  which 
have  contributed  to  form  what  may  be  called  a 
general  knowledge  and  a  general  faith,  the  sum  of 
which  is  great,  though  not  to  be  precisely  estima- 
ted. We  participate  in  these  salutary  influences, 
we  inhale  like  common  breath  these  airs  of  para- 
dise, without  being  conscious  of  their  real  source ; 
but  their  source  is  Christ.  A  large  amount 
of  Christian  knowledge,  and  Christian  princi- 
ple is  abroad,  not  assuming  a  distinctive  name, 
and  so  diffused  in  various  forms  of  communica- 
tion and  instruction,  and  through  all  the  relations 


156  NOTHING   WITHOUT    CHRIST. 

of  life,  and  all  its  hours,  from  those  of  childhood 
forward,  that  it  necessarily  reaches  and  effects 
every  one,  modifying  in  greater  or  less  degree, 
his  thoughts,  feelings,  conduct,  condition.  Of 
this  influence  we  are  unconscious,  for  it  is  in  a 
manner  insensible.  But  inquiry  will  soon  reveal 
both  its  reality  and  its  origin ;  and  we  act  an  un- 
grateful part,  if  having  enjoyed  its  benefits,  we 
•ascribe  them  to  ourselves,  or  to  the  progress  of 
our  human  nature,  and  claim  an  independence 
on  Christ,  in  the  strength  of  those  advantages 
which  Christ,  and  none  other,  has  in  fact  be- 
stowed. In  no  state  of  society,  anywhere,  before 
Christ  came  into  the  world  to  enlighten  it,  should 
we  have  participated  in  those  advantages;  and 
in  no  country  or  nation  where  Christ  is  unknown, 
could  we  be  partakers  of  them  now.  To  him 
we  owe  them,  and  to  him  we  should  refer  them. 
Opinions,  sentiments  and  hopes,  views  of  the 
present  and  the  future,  motives  of  action,  thoughts 
of  duty  and  of  God,  familiar  to  us  as  the  faces  of 
home,  always  known  to  us  as  if  they  were  bom 
with  us,  are  yet  not  ours,  by  right  of  nature,  but 
his,  our  Saviour's,  and  ours  only  by  grace.  It  is 
not  without  his  help,  not  without  his  original 
suggestion,  that  we  think  these  common  house- 


NOTHING   WITHOUT   CHRIST.  157 

hold  thoughts,  are  moved  by  these  apparently 
natural  impulses.  Even  these  are  from  him. 
Even  here  we  can  do  nothing  without  him. 
Out  in  the  world,  acting  with  its  citizens,  walking 
with  its  people,  reasoning  with  its  reasoners,  what 
is  best  and  strongest  in  us  comes  primarily  from 
Christ. 

But  this  is  only  the  first  and  most  general  view 
of  our  dependence.  When  we  turn  to  an  exam- 
ination of  ourselves  and  our  religious  state  in 
direct  and  immediate  relation  with  the  Saviour, 
it  is  then  that  the  conviction  is  most  forcibly  im- 
pressed upon  us,  that  we  can  do  nothing  without 
him.  We  arrive  at  our  most  intimate,  consoling 
and  elevating  knowledge  of  God  the  Father, 
through  his  Son  Jesus  Christ.  We  acquire  our 
simplest,  clearest,  kindest,  and  most  practical 
views  of  duty,  from  him  and  his  life.  We  learn 
from  him  distinctly,  what  is  the  acceptable  wor- 
ship and  service  which  man  is  required  to  render 
to  his  Maker.  We  know  through  him  and  his 
resurrection,  what  we  could  not  otherwise  have 
known  ;  whatever  we  might  have  hoped,  that  we 
are  immortal,  that  we  shall  live  after  death  and 
for  ever.  By  him  we  are  brought  into  connection 
with  that  bright  community  of  angels  and  sainted 
spirits,  whose  voices  we  hear  on  earth  by  faith, 


158  NOTHING   WITHOUT    CHRIST. 

cheering  us  in  our  journey,  and  inviting  us  to  the 
enjoyment  of  their  society  and  his  own,  everlast- 
ingly in  heaven.  While  we  continue  with  him, 
studying  his  life,  meditating  on  his  image,  listen- 
ing to  his  words,  imbibing  his  spirit,  we  are  pos- 
sessed with  all  this  knowledge,  faith  and  power  ; 
but  away  from  him  and  without  him,  where  is  it 
to  be  found,  and  what  can  we  do  ?  I  confess  I 
know  not.  If  I  could  dismantle  my  own  heart  of 
all  traces  and  memorials  of  the  Saviour,  I  know 
that  I  should,  be  startled  at  its  emptiness  and  des- 
olation, and  finding  in  it  but  little  to  repair  the 
melancholy  loss,  be  forced  to  weep  in  despair  over 
the  ruin  I  had  made.  And  as  empty  and  solitary 
as  my  heart,  should  I  find  the  domains  of  an- 
cient philosophy  and  religion.  What  should  I  get 
there  but  evil  mixed  up  with  good,  hope  glimmer- 
ing through  darkness,  and  doubt  enfeebling  all 
conclusions?  Whom  should  I  discover  there, 
among  the  best  and  greatest,  who  could  give  to 
my  soul  that  divine  security,  that  heavenly  rest 
which  is  so  freely  offered  by  Christ,  or  who  could 
reflect  upon  my  soul  that  image  of  purity  and  ho- 
liness which  is  revealed  in  the  person  of  Christ  ? 
Every  system  and  treatise  into  which  I  might 
look,  every  face  to  which  I  might  turn,  would 


NOTHING    WITHOUT    CHRIST.  159 

seem  to  ask  me  in  wonder,  why  I  came  to  them 
for  that  divine  authority,  purity  and  beauty 
which  they  lived  too  early  to  see,  and  for  that 
light  beyond  the  grave  which  they  were  search- 
ing for  so  anxiously  themselves. 

Christ  is  my  companion  and  guide  in  the  path 
of  my  mortal  life,  through  all  difficulty  and  dan- 
ger, always  ready  and  efficient  with  his  counsel, 
sympathy  and  assistance.  Am  I  in  doubt  con- 
cerning some  question  of  duty,  some  rule  of  con- 
science ?  I  have  only  to  refer  to  his  word,  or  his 
example,  and  my  course  is  plain.  Am  I  in  peril 
from  some  lurking  and  besetting  temptation, 
almost  irresistible  from  the  appeals  which  it 
makes  to  my  weaker  nature?  One  glance  at  his 
pure  countenance,  one  touch  of  his  invigorating 
hand,  and  I  am  my  better  self  again,  and  have 
strength  to  spurn  the  assaulter  away.  Have  I 
neglected  to  seek  my  helper  in  season  ?  have  I 
wandered  from  the  right  way?  and  do  I  at  length 
see  and  deplore  my  fault,  confused  and  ashamed  ? 
I  hear  his  voice,  not  repelling  me  by  harsh  ac- 
cents, but  gently  accepting  my  repentance,  and 
inviting  my  return.  Is  my  heart  deeply  pierced 
by  disappointment  or  any  grievous  sorrow  1  or  is 
my  flesh  troubled  by  racking  pain  ?  I  look  to 


160 


NOTHING   WITHOUT   CHRIST. 


the  man  of  sorrows,  to  the  suffering  Lamb  of 
God,  to  his  bleeding  temples,  to  his  agonizing 
cross ;  and  his  wounds  are  the  healing  of  mine. 
Do  I  stand  by  the  bedside  of  a  departing  friend, 
feeling  that  I  am  wretched,  and  that  when  the 
final  breath  is  breathed  I  shall  be  more  wretched 
still,  but  striving  to  restrain  my  tears,  in  the  fear 
of  disturbing  the  last  moments  of  one  I  love? 
Christ  is  with  me  where  I  stand,  assuring  me  that 
my  friend  will  not  die,  but  only  sleep,  and  that 
I  shall  meet  him  again,  and  be  parted  from  him 
no  more.  I  bless  the  sacred  accents,  and  my  tears 
gather  silently,  and  my  bosom  is  calmed.  And 
so  when  I  come  myself  to  the  brink  of  the  river, 
Christ  will  be  with  me  then,  who  has  been  with 
me  always,  and  the  warmth  of  his  dear  and  glo- 
rious presence  will  dispel  the  chilly  vapors,  and 
he  will  lead  me  safely  through.  What  then 
could  I  do  without  him?  How  can  I  live,  how 
can  I  die  without  him? 

Master  !  to  whom  shall  we  go?  thou  hast  the 
words  of  eternal  life.  Thou  hast  said  we  can  do 
nothing  without  thee.  Son  of  God,  it  is  true  ! 
Saviour  of  men,  it  is  true !  Thou  art  the  vine, 
we  are  the  branches.  Our  spiritual  life  is  nour- 
ished and  invigorated  from  thee ;  and  if  we  bear 


NOTHING   WITHOUT   CHRIST.  161 

fruit,  it  is  because  we  abide  in  thee,  and  still 
receive  the  vital  streams  which  flow  from  thee 
alone. 

It  is  necessary  that  any  one  should  be  guarded 
against  the  error  of  inferring  that  because  with- 
out Christ  we  can,  in  a  spiritual  sense,  do  no- 
thing, therefore  with  him  we  are  relieved  from  all 
responsibility  of  exertion,  and  have  nothing  to  do 
for  ourselves ?  I  should  hope  not.  Have  we  not 
yet  to  maintain  our  connection  with  him,  yet  to 
follow  where  he  leads,  yet  to  make  use  of  the 

* 

knowledge,  and  yet  to  apply  the  power  which  he 
furnishes?  If  an  artist  place  in  the  hands  of  a 
pupil  all  the  most  finished  instruments  which  are 
proper  to  his  art,  and  afford  him  all  the  instruc- 
tion which  is  needful  to  secure  his  advancement 
in  it,  and  give  him,  moreover,  the  promise  that 
he  will  always  take  an  interest  in  his  success, 
and  be  near  to  advise  and  direct  him,  has  the 
pupil  therefore  nothing  to  do?  Are  the  instru- 
ments which  have  been  furnished  him  to  lie  un- 
employed on  his  table,  and  is  he  to  fold  his  hands, 
and  sit  down,  and  say  that  all  is  now  complete, 
and  he  is  perfect  in  his  profession,  or  else  deplore 
his  inability,  and  wait  for  something  more  to  be 
done  for  him?  Everything  has  been  done  for 
11 


162  NOTHING   WITHOUT   CHRIST. 

him  which  could  be  done  for  a  responsible  being ; 
for  all  the  means  have  been  imparted  to  him  for 
the  needed  end.  And  yet  he  has,  in  the  other 
view  of  the  subject,  everything  still  to  do.  He  has 
still  to  practise  his  art  with  industry;  still  to 
study  its  principles  with  diligence;  still  by  his 
own  indefatigable  labor  to  make  himself  a  pro- 
ficient in  its  mysteries  and  applications.  If  he  do 
not  this  his  own  proper  part,  he  sadly  mistakes 
and  neglects  his  duty;  and  no  boast  of  perfec- 
tion, or  complaint  of  incompetency,  will  avail  to 
excuse  him.  It  is  so  with  the  Christian,  who  is 
the  pupil  of  Christ.  His  Master  has  done  every- 
thing for  him,  by  instruction,  by  example,  by  im- 
pression, by  the  aids  of  his  grace  and  spirit ;  and 
yet  the  pupil  is,  for  this  very  reason,  in  the  condi- 
tion which  requires  his  own  most  faithful  and 
grateful  exertions  to  improve  and  exercise  these 
heavenly  endowments.  It  is  not  enough  for  him 
to  say,  that  his  Master  is  perfect,  and  he  trusts 
wholly  in  his  Master's  perfection  and  merits. 
Certainly  he  ought  to  trust  in  his  Master's  per- 
fection and  merits,  without  whom  he  is  nothing; 
but  not  in  such  a  way  as  to  render  him  morally 
idle,  or  lead  him  to  indulge  the  erroneous  thought 


NOTHING    WITHOUT   CHRIST.  163 

that  anything  can  be  done  for  him  which  it  is  his 
own  special  part  to  do  for  himself,  or  that  he  can, 
be  found  in  his  Master's  image,  without  taking 
some  pains  to  copy  his  example,  and  obey  his 
directions. 

Without  Christ,  our  Lord  and  Saviour,  we  are 
nothing.  Therefore  most  gratefully  should  we 
acknowledge  our  dependence,  and  the  invaluable 
gifts  of  knowledge,  and  power,  and  comfort 
which  we  owe  to  him,  and  most  earnestly,  also, 
should  we  endeavor  to  make  a  worthy  disposition 
of  his  bounties,  in  the  temper  and  actions  of  an 
answering  love  and  obedience.  Thus,  and  thus 
only,  will  his  strength  become  effectually  ours; 
his  consolations  our  rejoicing ;  his  merits  our  sal- 
vation. The  branches  will  remain  on  the  vine, 
never  to  fall  or  wither.  Our  life  will  be  like 
his,  because  nourished  from  his,  divine  and  eter- 
nal. 

NOVEMBER  23,  1841. 


SERMON    XIV. 

PERPETUITY    OP    CHRIST'S    KINGDOM. 

AND   OF   HIS   KINGDOM   THERE  SHALL   BE   NO   END.  —  Luke   i.  83. 

THESE  words  are  a  part  of  the  angelic  annuncia- 
tion to  the  blessed  Mary.  They  contain  a  pro- 
mise that  the  reign  of  the  princely  Son  who  was 
to  be  born  of  her,  should  be  perpetual.  There  is 
every  probability  that  the  promise  will  be  glori- 
ously fulfilled.  Beside  the  trust  which  we  repose 
in  the  declarations  of  the  Scriptures,  of  which 
there  are  several  of  the  same  import  with  our 
text,  we  have  the  history  and  experience  of  the 
past,  the  tendencies  of  the  present,  the  prospects 
of  the  future,  and  the  nature  itself  of  Christianity 
to  assure  us  that  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah 
will  be  an  everlasting  kingdom;  that  the  name 
of  Christ  will  forever  be  glorified ;  that  the  pre- 
cepts and  doctrines  of  Jesus  will  never  fail  of 
their  influence,  nor  be  robbed  of  their  reverence ; 


PERPETUITY    OF    CHRIST'S   KINGDOM.  165 

that  of  the  power  of  pure  and  undefiled  religion, 
and  the  reign  of  God  and  heaven  there  will  be  no 
end. 

And  chief  of  these  we  have  the  nature  of  Chris- 
tianity to  give  us  the  assurance  of  its  stability. 
This  assurance  is  proclaimed  by  its  own  immor- 
tality. And  it  is  immortal,  because  its  subject- 
matter,  because  the  elements  which  go  to  com- 
pose it,  because  the  foundations  on  which  it  is 
reared  and  supported,  are  all  immortal  and  eter- 
nal. When  therefore  the  question  is  put,  why 
there  will  be  no  end  of  Christianity,  the  answer 
from  a  consideration  of  its  nature  is,  because 
there  will  be  no  end  to  virtue,  to  faith,  to  reason, 
to  hope,  to  fear ;  no  end  to  the  aspirations  of  men 
after  the  highest  good ;  no  end  to  heaven  and  to 
the  idea  of  an  immense  and  holy  future ;  no  end 
to  the  being,  the  government,  and  the  acknow- 
ledgment of  God.  Christianity  does  not  consist  in 
objects  which  are  outward,  and  therefore  liable  to 
be  worn  and  to  be  changed ;  it  does  not  rest  on 
things  which  are  passing  away  ;  but  it  consists  in 
and  rests  upon  those  thoughts,  sentiments,  affec- 
tions, principles  and  objects,  which  are  rooted 
permanently  within,  and  seated  permanently 


166  PERPETUITY   OF    CHRIST'S   KINGDOM. 

above,  and  which  cannot  wear  out,  nor  be  weak- 
ened, nor  pass  away. 

Christianity  teaches  the  nature  and  character 
of  God.  The  idea  of  God  is  in  fact  the  animat- 
ing spirit  of  the  system,  without  which  it  would 
be  dead,  or  nothing.  Will  the  idea  of  God,  the 
idea  of  one.  supreme,  perfect  God,  ever  be  obliter- 
ated from  the  human  mind?  Once  imprinted 
there,  is  it  likely  that  it  will  ever  be  obliterated  ? 
Can  any  idea  be  presented  to  the  mind,  which 
comprises  so  much  that  is  elevating  and  comfort- 
ing to  its  weakness,  and  congenial  and  satisfying 
to  its  noblest  moods  and  most  enlarged  capacities  ? 
Is  it  to  be  supposed  that  the  mind  will  ever  grow 
so  sluggish  and  careless,  or  become  so  deranged 
as  to  be  content  to  lose,  or  anxious  to  cast  away 
from  its  keeping  and  remembrance,  that  thought, 
which  of  all  thoughts,  raises,  strengthens,  expands 
and  consoles  it  the  most —  that  thought  which 
may  be  called  its  own  apotheosis  ?  If  man  can- 
not resign  the  idea  of  God,  then,  so  far,  Chris- 
tianity is  safe  ar.d  permanent.  But  will  there  ever 
be  any  change  or  improvement  in  the  idea  of 
God,  such  as  Christianity  offers  it,  so  that  Chris- 
tianity in  this  respect  will  be  superseded?  Not 
unless  an  advance  can  be  made  upon  perfection. 


PERPETUITY   OF   CHRIST'S   KINGDOM.  167 

Not  unless  unity  can  be  made  more  than  abso- 
lute; power  mightier  than  Almighty;  wisdom 
greater  than  infinite ;  and  love  more  full,  more 
free,  more  constant  than  love  itself,  without  limit, 
without  alloy,  without  restraint  and  without  end. 
Not  unless  God  can  be  named  by  a  name  dearer 
than  that  of  Father,  or  invested  with  a  character 
nearer  and  more  benignant  and  engaging  than 
that  of  paternal.  Not  unless  a  Providence  can 
be  imagined  more  majestic  than  that  which  or- 
ders all  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  or  more  care- 
ful and  watchful  than  that  by  which  the  hairs  of 
our  heads  are  numbered.  That  such  is  the  idea 
of  God,  as  given  in  the  Christian  scriptures,  is 
capable  of  demonstration.  That  any  improve- 
ment can  be  made  on  such  an  idea,  is  not  capable 
of  being  conceived.  The  effect  of  any  improve- 
ment or  purification  of  the  divine  idea  as  it  exists 
among  men,  will  forever  be  to  bring  it  nearer  to 
that  idea  as  it  is  expressed  in  the  Christian  records, 
and  not  to  produce  any  alienation  or  superiority, 
which  is  impossible. 

I  conclude  then,  that  as  the  human  mind  can- 
not part  with  the  idea  of  God,  which  is  required 
by  its  wants  and  is  kindred  to  its  constitution; 
that  as  the  mind  is  aided  and  elevated  by  this 


168  PERPETUITY    OF   CHRIST'S   KINGDOM. 

idea,  on  the  principle  of  a  constant  progression  of 
which  it  is  the  urging  or  expanding  power  or 
spring ;  and  that  as  all  advancement  in  this  direc- 
tion is  an  approach  toward  the  Christian  stand- 
ard, which  from  its  perfection  cannot  be  sur- 
passed —  Christianity  will  be  perpetual.  Its  light 
cannot  be  put  out,  for  God  is  its  illumination.  It 
cannot  die,  for  the  spirit  which  penetrates  and  in- 
forms it,  and  the  life  which  invigorates  and  quick- 
ens and  preserves  it,  is  God. 

The  same  conclusion  is  to  be  drawn,  secondly, 
from  the  morality  of  the  Gospel.  Of  the  kingdom 
of  Jesus  there  shall  be  no  end,  because  of  the 
reign  of  virtue,  of  holiness  there  shall  be  no  end. 
The  principle  of  virtue  is  a  conservative  principle. 
The  absence  of  virtue  from  any  system  which  is 
intended  for  the  mind  and  heart  of  man,  is  an  in- 
fallible mark  of  its  decay.  It  is  a  spot  which  will 
spread  into  corruption,  and  bring  on  debility,  and 
terminate  in  death.  The  system  may  prosper  for 
a  while,  and  its  prosperity  may  be  sudden,  but  so 
will  be  its  decline  ;  like  insect-stung  fruit  which 
is  forced  into  premature  and  fail  seeming  ripeness 
by  the  poison  which  spoils  it.  The  morality  of 
the  Gospel  may  challenge,  and  for  eighteen  cen- 
turies has  challenged  examination.  The  result 


PERPETUITY    OF    CHRIST'S   KINGDOM.  169 

has  been  that  it  has  approved  itself  more  and 
more  to  the  esteem  and  reverence  of  men.  Un- 
believers themselves  have  acknowledged — those 
unbelievers  I  mean  who  have  mind,  and  feeling, 
and  principle,  and  do  not  descend  into  the  rank  of 
mere  scoffers  —  that  the  morality  of  the  Christian 
system  is  purer,  and  brighter,  and  loftier  than 
that  of  any  other.  Nor  do  I  mention  this  fact, 
because  I  consider  Christianity  at  all  indebted  or 
beholden  to  infidels  for  their  courtesy,  which, 
though  it  would  not  reject,  it  may  safely  spare; 
nor  because  I  regard  an  unbeliever  as  in  the  least 
degree  a  better  judge  of  what  is  good  and  what  is 
true  than  a  believer.  Not  at  all.  But  I  mention 
it,  because  the  evidence  of  unbelief  is  extorted  ev- 
idence, and  unites  strongly  with  that  which  is 
more  willingly  rendered  ;  and  because  this  testi- 
mony to  the  high  virtue  of  our  religion,  is  just  so 
much  unwitting  testimony  to  something  more ; 
even  to  its  divine  origin,  to  its  complete  truth, 
and  to  its  endless  stability.  The  acknowledg- 
ment that  from  the  northern  corner  of  Palestine, 
from  despised  Nazareth,  came  forth  a  system,  be- 
fore the  moral  superiority  of  which  all  other  sys- 
tems must  bow,  is  the  acknowledgment  of  a  fact, 
very  near  to  a  miracle.  It  is  also  the  acknowledg- 


170  PERPETUITY   OF   CHRIST*  S    KINGDOM. 

ment  of  its  perpetuity.  Perfect  holiness  is  of  itself 
perpetuity.  It  is  the  conservative  principle,  with- 
out any  mixture  or  alliance  with  sin,  which  is 
the  great  element  of  corruption  and  dissolution. 
Every  voice,  therefore,  from  every  quarter,  which 
confesses  the  pure  morality  of  the  religion  of  Je- 
sus, joins  with  that  of  the  angel  who  saluted  his 
virgin  mother,  in  proclaiming  that  of  his  kingdom 
there  shall  be  no  end. 

And  the  morality  of  the  gospel  in  its  complete- 
ness is  yet  but  imperfectly  understood  and  par- 
tially felt.  It  is  unfolding  itself  in  new  power  to 
the  understandings  and  hearts  of  men ;  and  this 
its  progressiveness  is  a  token  of  perpetuity.  The 
peculiar  and  distinguishing  portion  of  the  Chris- 
tian morality  is  only  beginning  to  be  felt  and 
practised,  as  its  author  intended  it  should  be. 
The  self-denying  and  peaceful  virtues  have  not 
yet  shown  half  their  power,  nor  effected  half  their 
triumphs.  But  they  are  going  on  with  a  march 
as  sure  as  that  of  time.  Men  are  coming  daily 
nearer  to  a  just  perception  of  their  value  and  beau- 
ty, and  their  gracious  influence  on  human  happi- 
ness. How  far  off  men  were  from  this  just  per- 
ception, when  the  angelic  song  of  peace  and  good 
will  was  sung  to  the  shepherds  of  Bethlehem ! 


PERPETUITY    OF   CHRIST'S    KINGDOM.  171 

How  far  off,  when  the  great  and  blessed  Teacher 
himself  preached  glad  tidings  to  the  poor !  So 
far  off,  that  it  was  the  inculcation  of  these  virtues, 
so  disappointing  to  passion  and  pride ;  it  was  this 
preaching  to  and  for  the  poor  and  oppressed, 
so  incomprehensible  to  prejudice  and  vainglory, 
which  brought  him  to  the  cross.  Yes,  the  preach- 
ing of  the  gospel  to  the  poor,  was  the  initial  cause, 
which,  through  a  series  of  other  causes  with  their 
consequences,  brought  the  Saviour  to  the  cross, 
the  Lamb  to  the  slaughter.  And  now  men  are 
beginning  to  see  that  it  is  the  only  true  preach- 
ing ;  the  only  preaching  which  is  to  move,  and 
raise,  and  redeem  the  world*  And  it  is  uttered 
and  heard  with  increasing  effect,  not  only  from 
pulpits  and  in  religious  assemblies,  but  in  the 
house  and  by  the  way,  from  tongue  to  tongue, 
and  heart  to  heart,  in  the  daily  walks,  the  com- 
mon practice,  and  the  ordinary  meetings  of  men. 
"  The  Lord  gave  the  word,  great  was  the  com- 
pany of  preachers.  Kings  with  their  armies  did 
flee  and  were  discomfited."  It  is  the  voice  of 
experiment  and  improvement,  and  the  lesson  of 
experience.  Humility  is  showing  itself  stronger 
than  pride,  meekness  than  arrogance,  peace  than 
war,  gentleness  than  wrath,  and  charity  than 


172  PERPETUITY   OF   CHRIST'S   KINGDOM. 

selfishness.  Ay,  stronger;  not  only  better  but 
stronger,  and  stronger  because  better.  They  have 
not  prevailed,  but  they  are  prevailing.  The  end 
of  the  warfare  is  not  yet.  It  is  probably  very  far 
off.  But  it  is  approaching ;  the  time  is  approach- 
ing when  Christianity  shall  be  understood  as  it 
was  preached  by  its  author. 

The  completeness  of  the  morality  of  the  Gos- 
pel, therefore,  is  made  up  of  that  part  which  has 
always  received  the  approbation  of  men,  compris- 
ing such  virtues  as  honesty,  justice,  veracity,  and 
that  part,  which,  though  equally  worthy  of  ap- 
probation, has  been'  greatly  despised  and  kept 
out  of  sight,  comprising  the  self-denying,  self-sac- 
rificing, lowly  and  peaceful  virtues.  What  was 
once  thought,  and  is  still  thought  by  many,  to  be 
a  defective  portion  of  the  Christian  code,  is  prov- 
ing to  be  its  distinctive  strength  and  ornament. 
How  faultless  is  that  system,  of  which  humility 
and  gentleness  were  supposed  to  be  the  faults.  If 
faultless,  then  endless.  The  foundations  of  Chris- 
tianity, instead  of  being  disturbed,  are  only  set- 
tling, and  consolidating,  and  becoming  more 
strongly  cemented  than  ever. 

Inseparably  connected  with  the  morality  of  our 
religion,  and  indeed  a  personification  of  it,  is  the 


PERPETUITY    OF   CHRIST'S   KINGDOM.  173 

life  and  character  of  him  who  brought  it.  Some 
of  the  Christian  virtues  are  to  be  deduced  and 
enforced  rather  from  the  example  of  Jesus,  than 
from  his  direct  precepts.  The  character  of  Chris- 
tianity is  the  character  of  Christ.  We  say,  then, 
again,  that  there  will  be  no  end  of  Christianity, 
because  there  will  be  no  end  of  the  influence  and 
rule  of  a  character  like  that  of  Christ.  It  is  the 
Divine  image.  It  is  God  manifest  in  the  flesh. 
It  is  a  form  of  love  and  majesty,  full  of  grace  and 
truth,  which  must  ever  be  enthroned  in  the  hearts 
of  men,  while  there  are  good  affections  there  to 
do  it  homage.  Warm  admiration,  earnest  grati- 
tude, tender  sympathy,  unshaken  loyalty,  "  holy 
hope  and  high  humility"  —  all  the  virtues  and 
sentiments  which  the  Prince  of  Peace  has  called 
around  him  and  appointed  to  honor,  form  his 
permanent  court;  and  before  its  spiritual  splen- 
dor oriental  magnificence  grows  dim.  Jesus  is 
and  for  ever  must  be  enthroned  in  the  human 
breast.  "  Of  his  kingdom  there  shall  be  no  end ; " 
for  it  is  a  spiritual  kingdom,  and  he  himself  is 
ever  present  to  administer  it.  Centuries  have  no 
effect  on  the  brightness  of  his  lineaments.  Purely, 
freshly  do  love  and  faith  behold  him  now,  as  they 
bow  before  him,  and  thus  they  ever  will  behold 


174  PERPETUITY    OF   CHRIST'S   KINGDOM. 

him,  when  marble  statues  are  defaced,  and  pala- 
ces are  ruins  and  dust. 

I  will  mention  but  one  more  element  of  Chris- 
tianity, inherent  in  its  nature  and  inseparable 
from  it,  which  gives  assurance  of  its  perpetuity. 
It  is  the  doctrine,  the  promise,  the  principle  of  im- 
mortal life.  This  is  brought  to  light  in  the  gos- 
pel. It  stands  first  among  the  glad  tidings.  It 
is  clearly  proclaimed :  it  is  strongly  proved.  It 
is  encumbered  by  no  degrading  superstitions.  It 
is  the  high  and  pure  sanction  of  a  high  and  pure 
morality.  It  addresses  itself  to  those  hopes  which 
are  always  listening  for  good  news  from  the  bet- 
ter country;  to  that  longing  after  immortality 
which  is  a  longing  of  man's  nature.  The  news 
having  been  distinctly  told,  and  strikingly  con- 
firmed, is  it  likely  that  it  will  ever  be  forgotten, 
or  discredited?  Possessing  the  knowledge  which 
they  have  longed  for,  will  men  ever  let  it  go? 
The  heavens  having  been  opened  to  them,  will 
they  ask  to  have  them  shut  up  ?  Or  will  they 
close  their  eyes  to  the  light  which  is  pouring 
down?  Having  this  hope,  sure  and  steadfast, 
will  they  soon,  or  can  they  ever  relinquish  it  ?  — 
First  they  must  change  their  nature. 

I  need  not  be  told  of  the  infidelity  which  is 


PERPETUITY    OF    CHRIST'S   KINGDOM.  175 

abroad.  I  hear  it  with  regret,  but  without  fear. 
Infidelity  has  always  been  abroad,  either  in  dis- 
guise or  openly.  I  know  that  some  men  will 
hurt  themselves,  and  poison  themselves,  and  throw 
away  their  best  possessions,  and  scoff  at  the 
holiest  feelings  of  their  nature.  But  I  also  know 
that  they  cannot  persuade  their  fellow  men  to 
follow  their  example.  I  also  know  that  while 
there  exist  among  men  a  reverence  for  what  is 
high  and  holy,  and  a  hope  of  happiness  beyond 
the  reach  of  accident  and  death,  this  reverence 
will  continue  to  seek  the  instructions,  and  this 
hope  to  accept  the  promises  and  rest  on  the  proofs 
of  the  gospel  of  Christ;  and  this  will  be  so,  not- 
withstanding some  unfortunate  persons  have  di- 
vested themselves  of  reverence,  and  cast  away 
hope.  Go  and  ask  the  son  or  the  daughter, 
where  the  parent  is  who  nursed  their  helpless  in- 
fancy, and  sung  to  their  childhood  amidst  its  sun- 
shines and  showers,  and  loved,  counselled,  suf- 
fered and  still  forgave;  —  ask  them  where  that 
parent  is,  now  that  the  face  of  father  or  mother 
is  seen  no  more.  They  will  say,  In  heaven  ! 
Ask  the  parents,  where  that  child  is  whom  they 
so  lately  held  and  led  by  the  hand,  listening  to 
its  fresh  wonder,  cheered  by  its  cheerfulness,  and 


176  PERPETUITY   OF    CHRIST'S   KINGDOM. 

taught  by  its  questionings  and  its  purity.  They 
may  not  be  able  to  speak,  but  they  will  look  up- 
wards, and  their  hearts  will  answer,  In  heaven  ! 
There  they  have  placed  its  image  ;  there  they 
see  it  smiling  brightly  upon  them,  in  the  labors 
of  the  day,  and  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night 
—  and  all  the  hundred  hands  of  impiety  and  un- 
belief cannot  tear  it  down.  Nor  can  they  take 
from  the  weary  pilgrim  the  hope  of  his  rest,  from 
the  traveller  the  sight  of  his  home,  from  the  vir- 
tuous and  the  lovers  of  virtue  the  prospect  of  a 
better  world. 

In  such  foundations  as  these  the  structure  of 
our  religion  is  laid,  and  they  are  as  firm  as  the 
everlasting  hills,  and  firmer.  All  this  faith  and 
hope  in  God,  in  virtue,  in  Christ,  in  heaven ;  all 
this  love  of  what  is  greatest  and  most  worthy,  is 
not  to  be  exchanged  on  a  sudden  for  what  is  no- 
thing at  best.  When  I  fear  for  Christianity,  it 
will  be  after  I  have  despaired  of  everything  spirit- 
ual and  everything  good.  When  I  behold  the 
beauty  of  the  light,  and  the  fitness  of  the  eye  to 
receive  and  rejoice  in  it,  I  no  more  fear  that 
the  sun  of  righteousness  will  set  in  shadows,  than 
that  the  burning  centre  of  our  planetary  system 
will  fall  from  the  skies. 


PERPETUITY    OF   CHRIST'S   KINGDOM.  177 

"  He  shall  reign  over  the  house  of  Jacob  for 
ever,  and  of  his  kingdom  there  shall  be  no  end." 
Other  kingdoms  shall  change  and  perish ;  other 
governments  shall  be  destroyed ;  the  old  sound 
of  crushing  thrones  has  not  ceased;  they  have 
been  falling  in  our  own  times  all  around  us,  and 
others  will  fall  in  the  times  that  are  coming  after 
us.  The  kingdom  of  Christ  is  not  dependent 
upon  them,  and  will  not  fall  with  them.  Nor 
will  it  pass  away,  though  some  of  the  forms  and 
institutions  which  men  have  connected  with  it, 
should  be  laid  aside.  These  things  are  not  the 
substance  of  Christianity,  and  Christianity  can- 
not be  disturbed  by  their  alteration.  He  who 
considers  the  foundations  of  the  Messiah's  king- 
dom, will  see  that  they  do  not  consist  in  these 
things,  but  are  the  same  with  the  foundations  of 
the  eternal  throne.  "  Thy  throne  is  God,  for 
ever  and  ever ;  the  sceptre  of  thy  kingdom  is  a 
right  sceptre." 

DECEMBER  25,  1332. 


12 


SERMON    XV. 


INDEPENDENCE    ON    HUMAN    SYMPATHY. 

AND   YET   I   AM    NOT  ALONE,   BECAUSE   THE   FATHER    IS   WITH   AIE. 

John  xvi.  32. 

No  sublimer  moral  spectacle  can  be  presented  to 
the  sight  of  men,  than  that  of  one,  who  though 
he  should  be  deprived  of  all  the  usual  supports  of 
friendship  and  sympathy,  yet  falls  not,  because 
he  is  spiritually  upheld ;  of  one,  who  though  in 
the  path  of  duty  he  be  deserted  by  all  visible 
companions,  yet  stops  not,  falters  not,  because  he 
is  then  brought  into  closer  communion  with  the 
Almighty  Spirit  and  All-sufficient  Friend ;  of  one 
who  when  left  alone,  is  yet  not  alone,  and  com- 
plains not  of  defection  and  loneliness,  because 
One,  whom  he  knows  to  be  his  Father,  is  with 
him.  Such  a  spectacle  is  brought  before  us  by 
the  words  of  the  text. 

Jesus  was  not  insensible  to  human  sympathies. 
He  loved  all  mankind,  and  he  sought  their  love 


INDEPENDENTS    ON    HUMAN    SYMPATHY.  17? 

He  loved  his  disciples,  and  loved  them  unto  the 
end.  The  end  was  now  just  at  hand  ;  and  his 
whole  parting  discourse  to  them  and  prayer  for 
them,  prove  how  tenderly  he  loved  them.  Of  all 
who  had  ever  followed  him,  these  eleven  only  re- 
mained, on  that  night  when  he  was  betrayed  ; 
and  he  foresaw  that  their  allegiance  would  not 
stand  the  last  trial,  but  they  would  forsake  him 
in  the  impending  hour  of  darkness.  "  Behold 
the  hour  cometh,  yea,  is  now  come,  that  ye  shall 
be  scattered,  every  man  to  his  own,  and  shall 
leave  me  alone."  Think  you  that  Jesus  was  in- 
different to  the  failure  of  those  friends  whom  he 
had  chosen  out  of  the  whole  world  ?  He  was  not 
indifferent  to  it;  he  felt  it  keenly;  it  contributed 
to  the  bitterness  of  the  cup  which  he  was  about 
to  drain;  but  he  could  not  permit  it  to  over- 
come him ;  he  was  sustained  by  higher  sympa- 
thies ;  he  felt  the  presence  of  a  holier  power ;  — 
"and  yet  I  am  not  alone,  because  the  Father 
is  with  me." 

I  would  inculcate  from  this  passage,  a  due  in- 
dependence on  human  sympathy;  not  a  disregard 
of  it,  but  an  independence  on  it,  a  power  of  doing 
without  it;  a  power  which  must  exist  within  us, 
and  must  come  down,  with  every  other  good  and 


180          INDEPENDENCE    ON    HUMAN    SYMPATHY. 

perfect  gift,  from  above.  It  is  impossible  that  we 
should  disregard  this  sympathy  of  our  fellow 
men.  It  would  not  be  well  that  we  should.  The 
desire  of  it  is  one  of  the  primary  wants  of  our  be- 
ing. The  comfort  and  happiness  to  be  derived 
from  it  are  inestimable.  But  still  we  must  learn 
to  do  without  it.  We  must  so  train  and  discipline 
ourselves,  that  if  it  should  fail  us,  if  it  should 
be  withdrawn  from  us,  we  may  not  droop  and 
mourn,  as  utterly  forlorn  and  helpless,  but  gather 
up  our  own  strength  and  go  forward,  trusting  in 
that  strength,  because  it  is  given  us  from  God. 

We  must  learn  to  be  superior  to  the  need  of 
human  sympathy,  for  this  very  reason,  that  if 
we  do  not,  occasions  and  seasons  will  come,  when 
the  support  of  that  sympathy  will  be  refused 
to  us,  and  when  we  shall  consequently  be  left 
alone,  wholly  alone,  and  shall  fall.  This  is  not 
mere  supposition  or  remote  probability.  Hardly 
a  life,  among  the  vast  number  of  human  lives,  is 
without  such  occasions  and  seasons.  They  occur 
to  our  experience  and  observation  continually ; 
and  they  occur  in  great  variety. 

You  have  an  end  in  view,  an  important  moral 
end.  You  see  it  clearly,  and  you  tell  your  vision. 
You  apprehend  the  means  which  are  requisite  to 


INDEPENDENCE    ON    HUMAN    SYMPATHY.          181 

accomplish  or  promote  that  end,  and  you  propose 
those  means  to  the  favor  and  adoption  of  other 
men.  But  the  end  which  you  see  so  clearly,  they 
do  not  see  at  all ;  or  if  they  see  it,  they  do  not 
see  its  importance.  The  means  which  you  pro- 
pose, call  for  too  much  exertion,  or  for  some  per- 
sonal sacrifice  which  they  are  not  disposed  to 
make,  even  if  they  see  your  end,  and  acknow- 
ledge in  some  degree  its  importance.  Your  views 
are  not  embraced.  Your  efforts  are  not  second- 
ed. You  meet  with  no  sympathy.  Do  you  feel 
alone?  Do  you  experience  within  yourself  the 
heart-sinkings  of  a  deserted  and  desolate  man? 
In  a  measure,  and  for  a  time,  you  do.  You  can- 
not help  feeling  so.  You  are  constituted  to  feel 
so.  But  if  you  have  foreseen  this  disappointment 
as  possible,  and  have  guarded  yourself  against  its 
effects;  if  you  have  accustomed  yourself  to  a 
spiritual  independence  and  solitude,  you  will  not 
give  up  that  end,  you  will  pursue  it  with  such 
aid  as  you  can  obtain,  and  as  far  as  possible 
without  aid.  You  will  be  sensible  of  internal  aid 
and  companionship ;  and  with  that  strength  you 
will  bear  up  against  averted  looks,  against  cold 
words,  against  sneers  and  ridicule,  against  the 
despondent  pleadings  of  your  own  solitary  affec- 


182          INDEPENDENCE   ON   HUMAN   SYMPATHY. 

tions,  and  you  will  persevere,  longing  for  human 
sympathy,  and  yet  able  to  go  on,  and  determined 
to  go  on  without  it. 

Again  :  a  subject  interests  your  feelings  as  you 
have  no  reason  or  right  to  expect  it  can  interest 
the  feelings  of  other  men.  They  do  not  sympa- 
thize with  you,  simply  because  they  cannot  sym- 
pathize with  you.  The  subject  is  one  which  is 
brought  before  you,  or  which  is  connected  with 
you  in  a  manner  which  naturally  gives  it  a  charm 
or  a  value,  or  on  the  other  hand  a  pain  or  discom- 
fort, with  which  others  are  not  affected.  What 
will  you  do  ?  You  want  the  sympathy  of  your 
neighbors.  But  you  cannot  force  their  sympathy. 
Sympathy  is  not  controlled  by  the  laws  of  force. 
It  must  be  yielded  spontaneously,  or  not  at  all. 
From  the  circumstances  of  the  case  it  cannot  now 
be  yielded  spontaneously,  because  your  neighbors 
cannot  feel  as  you  feel,  and  therefore  you  cannot 
have  it.  What  will  you  do?  Will  you  com- 
plain ?  Then  you  will  make  yourself  more  un- 
happy than  before,  and  without  accomplishing 
your  desire.  Will  you  assume  an  indifference 
yourself,  toward  the  subject  which  excites  you, 
and  does  not  excite  others?  This  perhaps  you 
ought  not  to  do,  even  if  you  can  ;  or  perhaps  can- 


INDEPENDENCE    ON   HUMAN    SYMPATHY.          183 

not  do,  at  any  rate,  on  account  of  your  inevitable 
relations  with  it.  You  must  stand  in  your  own 
strength,  and  stand  alone.  You  must  be  content 
to  superintend  and  guide  your  own  feelings,  and 
enjoy  or  suffer  them  without  communication,  be- 
cause you  cannot  reasonably  demand  that  others 
should  share  them. 

Suppose  again,  that  the  sympathy  of  others 
ought  to  be  given  you,  and  yet  is  not,  through 
their  fault,  their  obtuseness,  their  frivolity  or  their 
cruelty.  Here  there  is  blame  attaching  to  them, 
but  the  same  duty  and  necessity  of  independence 
incumbent  upon  you.  Your  duty  plainly  is,  not 
to  despair,  because  there  is  a  want  of  proper  feel- 
ing in  the  world,  or  in  your  neighborhood,  but  to 
maintain  yourself  on  your  own  sense  of  right,  and 
your  own  individual  relations,  trusts,  and  respon- 
sibilities. Whether  your  neighbors  are  right  or 
wrong,  whether  their  conduct  in  respect  to  you  is 
justifiable  or  unjustifiable,  one  thing  is  certain, 
that  they  do  not  join  you,  that  they  do  not  go 
along  with  you,  that  they  leave  you  alone.  It  is 
yours  to  determine  whether  this  solitude  is  to  be 
supplied,  and  how. 

Suppose  another  case,  and  one  which  is  not  un- 
common. You  have  suffered  some  loss,  some  great 


184          INDEPENDENCE    ON   HUMAN   SYMPATHY. 

loss.  The  burthen  of  your  grief  is  heavy  upon 
you.  You  seek  to  have  it  alleviated.  Your  situ- 
ation calls  for  sympathy,  and  you  receive  sympa- 
thy. But  you  do  not  receive  so  much  as  you  re- 
quire, so  much  as  you  suppose  to  be  your  due,  so 
much  as  your  excitement  craves.  You  find  that 
the  sympathy  expressed  is  unsatisfying;  consoles 
you  not;  supports  you  not;  leaves  you  still  in  a 
manner  alone.  This  is  not  always  because  there  is 
a  want  of  a  good  disposition  to  console  you  to  the 
utmost,  but  sometimes  because  your  friends  lack 
the  ability  to  put  their  sympathy  into  the  most 
effective  and  consoling  form,  and  sometimes  be- 
cause any  form  of  sympathy  must  appear  tame  to 
your  excited  sensibilities,  must  feel  cold  to  your 
warmly  bleeding  heart.  Accuse  not  your  friends 
of  apathy.  Charge  them  not  with  want  of  feeling. 
If  they  do  not  possess  feeling,  your  accusations 
will  not  give  it  to  them.  If  they  do  possess  it, 
your  reproaches  will  add  to  their  unhappiness, 
without  alleviating  your  own.  How  can  they 
feel  as  much  as  you  do  yourself?  And  even  if 
they  should  feel  as  much,  or  even  more,  and 
should  express  their  feeling  in  the  strongest  and 
best  chosen  terms,  neither  their  words  nor  their 
tears  could  restore  to  you  what  you  had  lost,  or 


INDEPENDENCE   ON   HUJfflAN    SYMPATHY.          185 

fill  up  the  void  in  your  bosom.  Human  sympa- 
thy of  the  most  perfect  character,  has  a  limited 
operation.  It  cannot  do  everything.  Bless  it  for 
what  it  does,  and  demand  not  of  it  impossibilities 
or  miracles.  Bring  your  mind  to  the  conclusion, 
that  there  are  woes  which  it  cannot  fully  relieve ; 
burlhens  which  it  cannot  lift  away  from  off  your 
spirit ;  occasions  when  it  must  leave  you  com- 
paratively alone,  and  when  you  must  be  made 
aware  of  its  insufficiency,  and  aware  of  the  need 
of  something  else,  something  mightier,  something 
holier,  for  support  and  consolation. 

Another  reason  which  may  be  proposed  for  the 
cultivation  of  independence  on  human  sympathy, 
is,  its  intrinsic  dignity  and  propriety,  which  are  so 
manifest,  that  they  always  command  respect,  and 
win  a  favor  at  last  which  is  denied  to  a  weak  and 
importunate  dependence.  What  is  the  conse- 
quence of  a  person's  continually  and  beseechingly 
throwing  himself  upon  the  sympathies,  even  of 
his  friends?  He  wears  out  those  sympathies. 
They  cannot  supply  his  incessant  demands. 
They  grow  weary  in  the  thankless  task  of  bear- 
ing or  endeavoring  to  bear  the  troubles  of  one, 
who  does  little  or  nothing  to  bear  his  own  trou- 
bles. There  is  an  aspect  of  mendicancy  in  his 


186  INDEPENDENCE    ON    HUMAN    SYMPATHY. 

conduct,  which  is  felt  to  be  troublesome,  and 
which  rather  repels  than  secures  the  best  regards 
of  friendship  and  offices  of  charity.  Whereas  a 
person  who  is  careful  not  to  intrude  his  sorrows 
on  the  attention  of  others,  is  respected  for  his 
manliness,  and  loved  for  his  good  sense  and  for- 
bearance; and  fully  gains  the  sympathy  for 
which  he  does  not  beg.  Sympathies  flow  in 
upon  such  a  man,  in  free  tides,  from  all  affection- 
ate hearts.  Sooner  or  later  they  will  flow  in 
upon  him.  If  there  are  no  walls  of  prejudice 
about  him,  to  check  their  access,  they  will  flow 
in  at  once;  but  in  spite  of  all  obstacles  they  will 
reach  him  at  last ;  they  will  reach  and  surround 
the  man  who  has  shown  that  he  has  deserved 
them,  and  that  he  can,  when  they  are  withheld 
or  refused,  live,  and  be  refreshed  and  sustained 
without  them.  It  is  an  unquestionable  fact,  that 
the  most  generous  and  ample  sympathy  rendered 
by  man,  is  not  rendered,  till  the  object  of  it  has 
proved  himself  to  be  superior  to  it ;  not  coldly  or 
arrogantly  superior  to  it,  but  so  fortified,  so  main- 
tained by  an  inward  might,  that  he  is  no  needy 
dependant  upon  it.  One  powerful  consideration, 
therefore,  for  the  cultivation  of  independence  on 
human  sympathy,  is,  that  the  best  sympathy  is 


INDEPENDENCE    ON   HUMAN    SYMPATHY.  187 

finally  given  to  independence.  A  bright  example 
of  this  truth,  is  the  once  deserted  Saviour.  What 
a  crowd  of  sympathies,  what  a  countless  pilgrim- 
age of  affections  now  flock  about  him,  on  that 
loneliest  spot  in  his  own  life,  where  he  was  be- 
trayed, denied  and  forsaken  of  men.  All  the 
sympathy  which  has  been  rendered  to  all  the 
greatest  and  wisest  of  our  race,  is  not  to  be  men- 
tioned in  comparison  with  that  unreckoned  and 
inconceivable  amount,  which  goes  forth  from  age 
to  age,  and  hangs  round  the  image  of  the  despised 
and  crucified ;  —  of  him,  who,  in  the  garden  of 
Gethsemane,  in  the  hall  of  Pilate,  on  the  Mount 
of  Calvary,  was  left  alone,  and  yet  was  not  alone, 
because  the  Father  was  with  him. 

Do  you  ask  how  this  independence,  so  indis- 
pensable, so  honorable,  is  to  be  acquired  1  I  re- 
fer you  again  to  that  example.  I  refer  you  to 
the  words  of  the  text.  Jesus,  though  left  alone, 
was  not  alone,  because  the  Father  was  with  him. 
He  did  not  sink  in  the  time  of  his  desertion,  be- 
cause he  was  upheld  of  God.  He  could  spare 
the  company,  and  pardon  the  defection  of  his  dis- 
ciples, because  he  could  resort  to  the  all-sufficient 
source  of  love  and  light  and  mercy. 

Where  he  resorted,  we  must  also  resort ;  and 


188          INDEPENDENCE    ON   HUMAN    SYMPATHY. 

where  he  found  strength,  there  must  we  find  it 
also,  for  it  is  to  be  found  nowhere  else.  When  I 
have  spoken  of  internal  strength,  I  have  intended 
no  strength  which  belongs  to  man's  own  nature, 
and  originates  in  his  own  self;  for  I  do  not  be- 

o  / 

lieve  in  the  sufficiency  of  any  such  strength  for 
the  trying  emergencies  of  his  condition. 

"  Man's  wisdom  is  to  seek 

< 
His  strength  in  God  alone  ; 

And  even  an  angel  would  be  weak, 
Who  trusted  in  his  own." 

There  is  a  proud  and  hard  self-confidence,  which 
will,  to  outward  appearance,  bear  a  man  up 
through  much  tribulation  and  desolateness.  But 
there  is  no  comfort,  no  relief,  no  refreshment,  in 
such  endurance  and  struggling.  The  real  and 
consoling  strength  can  only  come  from  above; 
can  only  be  given  from  God ;  can  only  be  impart- 
ed by  the  conviction  that  God  is  present,  that 
God  hears,  sees,  pities,  and  will  reward.  The 
want  of  human  sympathy  is  only  to  be  sup- 
plied by  communion  with  the  Holy  and  Eternal 
Spirit.  The  defects,  the  insufficiency  of  human 
sympathy,  are  only  to  be  remedied  by  an  abiding 
and  religious  sense  of  the  fulness  and  perfection 
of  that  love  and  care  with  which  an  Almighty 


INDEPENDENCE    ON   HUMAN    SYMPATHY.          189 

Father  watches  over  his  children.  You  can 
never  feel  isolated  or  deserted,  if  you  have  ac- 
customed yourself  to  heavenly  companionship. 
Whatever  your  sorrows,  whatever  your  loneliness 
may  be;  in  whatever  way  you  may  be  disap- 
pointed or  forsaken ;  a  practical  faith  that  the 
Mightiest  of  all  beings,  that  the  Wisest  and  Best 
of  all  beings  is  ever  near  you,  fills  up  the  void, 
and  surrounds  you  with  an  eternal  sympathy. 

"  Who  is  alone,  if  God  be  nigh  ? 

Who  shall  repine  at  loss  of  friends, 
While the  has  One  of  boundless  power, 

Whose  constant  kindness  never  ends; 
Whose  presence  felt  enhances  joy, 

Whose  love  can  stop  the  flowing  tear, 
And  cause  upon  the  darkest  cloud  • 

The  pledge  of  mercy  to  appear." 

Withdraw  not  from  men  ;  but  draw  nearer  and 
more  near  every  day  unto  God.  Repel  not  hu- 
man sympathies ;  slight  not  the  expressions  of 
human  kindness,  however  imperfect  and  inad- 
equate they  may  be ;  break  not  with  rudeness  a 
single  tie,  though  it  have  no  more  substance  and 
strength  than  a  gossamer  thread,  which  connects 
you  with  your  brethren; — but  cultivate,  above 
and  before  all,  those  sentiments  of  piety  which 
render  the  presence  of  God  a  reality  to  your  spirit 


190  INDEPENDENCE    ON    HUMAN    SYMPATHY. 

and  make  him  your  Father  and  your  Friend. 
Then  you  will  not  complain  of  the  want  of  hu- 
man sympathy,  for  you  will  be  possessed  of  a 
love  which  is  infinitely  better.  Then  you  will 
not  be  hurt  by  the  seeming  chilliness  and  insuffi- 
ciency of  that  sympathy,  because  you  will  be 
convinced  that  everything  human  must  be  imper- 
fect, and  because  you  will  be  satisfied  with  the 
sufficiency  of  God.  Then  you  will  have  com- 
munion and  sympathy  with  Jesus  Christ,  who 
loved  all  men  most  deeply  at  that  very  hour 
when  he  was  forsaken  of  all  men,  and  who, 
when  forsaken  and  alone,  yet  was  not  alone,  be- 
cause the  Father  was  with  him. 

JUNE  5,   1836. 


SERMON    XVI. 


CHRIST    OUR    FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

O   MY   FATHER,    IF   IT   BE   POSSIBLE,    LET   THIS   CUP    PASS    FROM    ME. 

Matt.  xxvi.  39. 

To  some  most  serious  Christians,  the  passage 
which  I  have  announced  as  my  text  has  seemed 
big  with  difficulty.  They  are  accustomed  to  view 
all  the  words  and  actions  of  Jesus  through  the  me- 
dium of  a  preconceived  metaphysical  theory  or 
system,  by  which  he  is  indeed  mistily  and  vaguely 
magnified  to  their  imaginations,  but  rendered 
distant  to  their  understandings,  and  uncertain  to 
their  hearts.  It  has  militated  with  their  apprehen- 
sions of  the  nature  and  dignity  of  the  Saviour, 
that  he  should  sue  to  escape  from  suffering ;  that 
when  the  figure  of  the  cross  was  presented  to  him, 
distinct  and  near,  he  should  pray  that  a  door 
might  be  opened  through  which  he  might  flee 
from  it ;  that  when  the  cup  of  a  bitter  death  was 
held  close  to  his  lips,  he  should  supplicate  his 


192  CHRIST    OUR    FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

Father  that  it  might  be  withdrawn  fiom  them. 
Here  is  the  difficulty  —  that  one  of  eternal  dignity 
should  be  afraid  of  pain  and  death ;  and  much 
has  been  said  arid  invented  to  explain  the  scrip- 
tural statement. 

But  there  is  no  difficulty  in  this  portion  of  our 
Lord's  history,  if  we  will  set  our  theories  aside, 
and  read  it  with  our  sincere  and  natural  affec- 
tions. Then  we  shall  find  that  it  is  consistent, 
worthy  and  true,  as  it  stands,  without  explana- 
tion or  apology.  Then  we  shall  find  that  there  is 
nothing  in  it  incompatible  with  the  proper  dignity 
of  the  Saviour,  or  with  that  temper  of  devout  and 
filial  submission  which  was  so  leading  a  feature 
of  his  character.  We  shall  find  that  it  is  full  of 
harmony  and  full  of  instruction. 

Let  us  consider  the  passage  as  it  is  simply  pre- 
sented to  us.  If  I  read  it  with  my  heart  open,  I 
perceive  how  naturally  the  ejaculation  broke  from 
our  Saviour's  lips,  under  the  circumstances  in 
which  he  was  placed,  the  crisis  in  his  mission  to 
which  he  had  come;  and  it  so  touches  me,  so  ad- 
dresses itself,  as  it  rises  to  heaven,  to  correspond- 
ing emotions  within  me,  that  I  bless  the  Evangel- 
ist for  having  recorded  it.  My  own  human  nature 
owns  a  sympathy  in  it,  and  derives  a  support  from 


CHRIST   OUR   FELLOW-SUFFERER.  193 

it,  which  it  could  not  have  owned  in  any  exhibi- 
tion of  indifference  to  suffering,  and  could  not 
have  derived  from  any  words  of  excited  heroism. 
Alone,  the  dark  hour  advancing,  his  friends  sleep- 
ing, his  enemies  watching,  seizure  and  torture  at 
hand,  his  brow  presses  the  damp  soil  of  the  gar- 
den, and  the  midnight  silence  is  broken  by  his 
earnest  prayer,  "  O  my  Father,  if  it  be  possible, 
let  this  cup  pass  from  me  !  "  This  is  nature,  and 
this  is  truth.  I  ask  not  whether  it  accords  with  a 
divine  nature,  or  with  an  angelic  nature ;  I  feel 
that  it  accords  with  my  nature,  and  enters  into 
communion  with  my  nature,  and  is  of  much  more 
service  to  my  spirit  than  anything  stoical  or  for- 
eign from  my  nature  could  have  been.  I  feel  that 
even  the  feebleness  of  my  nature  in  its  seasons  of 
oppression  and  sorrow,  is  spoken  to  and  sympa- 
thetically comforted  by  these  imploring  words  of 
my  Lord.  Here  is  a  perfect  nature,  speaking  pre- 
cisely as  my  own  nature  would  be  impelled  to 
utter  itself  in  prospect  of  great  trial ;  and  by  this 
fellowship  I  am  assured  and  soothed,  and  am 
taught  that  my  feebleness,  or  what  may  be  termed 
so,  is  not  sinful,  but  being  implanted  by  the  Au- 
thor of  my  nature,  has  its  good  ends,  and  its  sav- 
ing purposes.  It  was,  indeed,  through  suffering, 
13 


194  CHRIST   OUR   FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

felt  as  it  is  felt  by  ourselves,  that  the  perfection  of 
our  Saviour's  nature  received  its  holiest  crown ; 
according  to  the  Scripture  which  assures  us  that 
he  "was  made  perfect  through  suffering."  And 
it  is  probably  in  reference  to  this  very  scene  of  his 
agony  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  that  the  au- 
thor of  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrew  speaks,  when 
he  says  of  him,  "Who  in  the  days  of  his  flesh, 
when  he  had  offered  up  prayers  and  supplications 
with  strong  crying  and  tears  unto  him  that  was 
able  to  save  him  from  death,  and  was  heard  in 
that  he  feared  ;  though  he  were  a  Son,  yet  learn- 
ed he  obedience  by  the  things  which  he  suffered  ; 
and  being  made  perfect,  he  became  the  author  of 
eternal  salvation  unto  all  them  that  obey  him." 
Jesus  did  not  court  death,  nor  choose  pain.  He 
makes  no  boast,  sends  forth  no  challenge.  How 
different  is  this  simplicity  from  the  deportment  of 
some  of  his  followers  in  circumstances  of  extrem- 
ity, who  have  gone  beyond  their  master,  and 
plunged  into  extravagance  and  fanaticism.  Com- 
pare these  words  of  his  with  the  words  of  some  of 
those  martyrs  who  suffered  in  his  cause.  His 
deprecate  agony;  theirs  invite  it.  They  have 
rushed  to  the  cross  or  the  stake  with  a  mad  joy ; 
they  have  even  sported  with  their  awful  situation 


CHRIST    OUR   FELLOW-SUFFERER.  195 

in  wild  words  of  jest.  Place  their  reported  say- 
ings by  the  side  of  his  supplication  in  Gethsem- 
ane.  and  judge  whether  the  former  resemble  the 
latter,  or  are  countenanced  by  it.  I  say  not  that 
all  Christ's  faithful  witnesses  have  in  this  manner 
exceeded.  I  reverence  the  noble  army  of  mar- 
tyrs, many  of  whom  have  confessed  and  suffered 
as  became  their  cause  in  all  things.  Nor  do  I 
mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  nature  and  not  a 
dash  of  truth  in  the  enthusiastic  bearing  and  ex- 
pressions of  those  who  have  smiled  at  death  and 
saluted  him;  for  I  charge  not  even  these  with 
hypocrisy.  But  the  nature  which  they  have  ex- 
hibited is  an  excited,  goaded,  intoxicated  nature; 
and  if  they  have  been  true  to  nature,  they  have 
been  true  to  the  pride  of  nature  and  to  its  capa- 
city of  high  excitation.  They  have  thus  shown 
me,  indeed,  that  there  is  something  lofty  even  in 
the  errors  of  my  nature,  when  the  original  im- 
pulse is  given  by  a  good  cause.  But  they  have 
afforded  me  no  proper  example.  How  could  they, 
when  their  example  has  deviated  so  far  from  that 
of  our  common  Lord?  They  have  offered  me  no 
enduring  sympathy  and  no  steady  support ;  for  I 
can  hold  no  enduring  sympathy  with  a  fitful  out- 
break of  zeal  and  daring,  which  my  composed 


196  CHRIST    OUR   FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

mind  cannot  approve,  and  to  which  my  own  na- 
ture may  not  at  any  time  be  equal ;  and  I  can  de- 
rive no  steady  support  from  declarations  which 
have  been  prompted  by  doubtful  motives,  by 
earth-born  passion  as  largely  as  by  heaven-born 
faith. 

And  when  I  search  to  the  bottom  of  this  mat- 
ter, I  arrive  at  the  conclusion,  that  no  well-bal- 
anced, unexaggerated,  human  nature  or  being 
can  ever  despise  or  be  indifferent  to,  loss,  shame, 
pain  and  death ;  that  is,  can  never  despise  or  be 
indifferent  to  them  absolutely  and  uncondition- 
ally. It  can  be  so  sustained  as  to  rise  superior  to 
them,  and  it  may  prefer  them,  vastly  prefer  them 
as  alternatives ;  but  it  must  always  avoid  them 
for  their  own  single  sakes,  it  must  always  escape 
from  them  if  it  can,  if  it  can  consistently  with 
honor,  self-respect,  obedience  to  principle  and 
to  God.  That  which  is  bitter,  is  bitter,  and  can 
only  be  sweetened  to  the  imagination  by  being 
compared  with  something  which  is  more  bitter, 
or  by  being  presented  as  the  only  means  of  attain- 
ing that  which  is  sweet  and  good  and  essentially 
desirable.  Suffering  is  suffering  ;  and  you  cannot 
teach  human  nature  to  be  indifferent  to  it,  because 
he  who  made  it  has  made  it  susceptible  of  suffer- 


CHRIST    OUR   FELLOW-SUFFERER.  197 

ing.  And  here  it  is  that  I  feel  the  value  of  my 
Saviour's  prayer.  Jesus  sympathizes  with  me 
when  I  shrink  from  the  prospect  of  pain ;  for  there 
was  an  hour  when  he  shrunk  from  it  himself, 
and,  in  extreme  distress,  begged  to  be  delivered 
from  it,  if  it  were  possible.  There  was  no  show 
of  bravery  in  him,  when  the  sweat  dropped  from 
him  like  blood,  and  he  cried  amidst  the  gloom  of 
that  last  night,  cried  out  that  the  cup  might  be 
taken  away;  and  this  assures  me,  that  no  show 
of  bravery  is  required  of  me  in  the  hour  of  my 
distress,  and  that  I  am  guilty  of  no  improper 
weakness,  and  prefer  no  undutiful  petition,  when 
I  am  subdued  and  melted,  and  pray  that  the 
dreaded  pangs  may  be  spared  me.  I  find  him 
near  to  me  in  the  valley  of  tears  and  sorrows,  not 
rebuking  me,  but  sanctifying  my  sad  appeals,  and 
permitting  me  to  borrow  his  own  words  in  mak- 
ing my  petition.  I  love  him  for  his  simple,  un- 
disguised, unmingled  truth ;  I  love  him  for  taking 
on  himself  my  nature  so  entirely;  for  not  only 
teaching  me  and  arming  me,  but  weeping  with 
me  and  even  fearing  with  me.  And  loving  him 
in  this  wise,  and  comforted  by  his  sympathy  when 
I  weep  and  fear,  I  am  better  prepared  to  follow 
and  imitate  him  when  he  submits,  endures  and 


198  CHRIST    OUR    FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

triumphs.  Reassured  in  my  trembling  and  yet 
importunate  griefs,  by  hearing  him  exclaim,  "O 
my  Father,  if  it  be  possible  let  this  cup  pass  from 
me,"  I  am  the  more  ready  to  pursue  his  prayer, 
and  add,  "Nevertheless,  not  as  I  will,  but  as 
thou  wilt." 

My  friends,  we  are  continually  praying,  all  of 
us,  that  the  cup  may  pass  from  us.  He  who 
fears  that  illness  may  break  up  his  cherished 
plans,  and  cast  a  lasting  shadow  over  his  tempo- 
ral prospects ;  he  who  fears  that  the  fluctuating 
elements,  or  the  fickle  times,  or  the  more  fickle 
purposes  of  men,  may  reduce  him  and  his  family 
to  narrow  and  dependent  poverty ;  he  who  fears 
that  the  confidence  which  he  has  reposed  is  mis- 
placed and  abused,  and  that  one  whom  he  had 
called  friend  will  betray  him  ;  he  who  fears  that 
death  has  come  upon  him  unawares  and  pre- 
maturely, to  snatch  him  away  from  all  his  hopes 
and  labors,  and  from  those  who  love  him  and 
look  to  him  with  intense  observance ;  all  they 
who  fear  that  they  may  be  presently  called  to 
abide  some  great  agony  of  flesh  or  spirit,  will 
pray  in  agony  that,  if  it  be  possible,  the  cup  may 
pass  from  them.  And  who  will  forbid  or  check 
the  prayer  ?  Not  the  author  and  finisher  of  our 


CHRIST    OUR    FELLOW-SUFFERER.  199 

faith  ;  not  he  who  prayed  with  his  face  on  the 
ground  in  Gethsemane ;  not  Jesus. 

The  once  blooming  and  light-hearted  child 
is  lying  pale  on  its  little  bed.  To  the  anxious 
questioning  of  its  parents  the  physician  has  re- 
turned a  grave  and  dubious  reply.  They  look 
on  its  face  with  a  feeling  which  never  shot 
through  their  hearts  till  now,  and  with  all  the 
earnestness  of  him  who  prayed  in  the  garden, 
they  pray  that  the  dear  blossom  may  be  spared 
to  them.  O  Father !  if  it  be  possible,  if  it  be  pos- 
sible, let  this  cup  pass  from  us !  We  would  hold 
the  child  thou  hast  given  us  yet  longer  in  our 
arms ;  we  would  warm  him  yet  longer  in  our 
bosoms ;  we  would  listen  to  his  voice,  watch  over 
his  opening  intellect,  nurse  him  into  maturity, 
lead  him  into  life !  O  Father,  if  it  be  possible  ! 
—  Who  will  interrupt  them  in  their  prayer  ?  who 
will  chide  them  for  it  ?  Not  Jesus. 

A  friend  has  been  by  our  side  through  many  a 
varied  year,  participating  with  us  in  every  care, 
helping  us  to  bear  every  burthen,  rejoicing  in  our 
joy,  and  wounded  by  our  sorrow.  As  he  is  still 
engaged  in  kindly  offices,  his  countenance  be- 
comes altered,  and  shows  that  the  summons  is 
issued  for  his  removal,  and  that  the  might  of  the 


200  CHRIST    OUR    FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

last  hours  is  upon  him.  The  past  rises  before  us, 
bringing  looks,  words  and  deeds  of  affection  and 
devotedness.  and  we  can  hardly  support  the 
thought  that  these  are  never  more  to  be  repeated, 
but  now  there  is  to  be  an  end  of  all.  Our  reason 
and  our  religion  will  acknowledge,  that  the  sep- 
aration is  wisely  ordered  by  him  who  holds  our 
times  in  his  hand,  but  our  human  nature  will 
first  cry  out,  "O  my  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  let 
this  cup  pass  from  me!"  And  who  will  atrest 
the  cry  7  Not  Jesus. 

Surely  it  is  among  the  greatest  of  our  privi- 
leges, that  in  seasons  of  mortal  weakness,  we 
have  the  sympathy  of  him  who  was  strong  to 
conquer  death  and  the  grave  ;  that  when  the  cup 
of  disappointment,  or  bereavement,  or  sudden  fear, 
is  brought  to  our  lips,  and  we  pray  to  have  it 
removed,  we  may  be  conscious  of  the  sympathy 
of  the  well  beloved  Son,  who  prayed  that  the  cup 
might  also  pass  from  him.  But  if  we  would  ex- 
perience all  the  advantage  of  our  Saviour's  sym- 
pathy, let  us  proceed  and  finish  his  prayer.  Let 
us  add,  with  a  resignation  as  humble  as  our 
pleading  was  fervent,  "  Nevertheless,  not  as  we 
will,  but  as  thou  wilt."  If  it  be  not  the  will  of 
God  that  our  request,  whatever  it  may  be,  and 


CHRIST    OUR   FELLOW-SUFFERER.  201 

however  urgent  we  may  be  in  offering  it,  should 
be  granted,  then  it  is  impossible,  and  it  is  our  part 
to  submit.  If  it  be  not  his  will  to  comply  with 
our  desires,  it  is  not  best  that  they  should  be  com- 
plied with ;  it  is  neither  for  our  good  nor  for  the 
good  of  others  ;  in  fine  it  is  not  right ;  and  there- 
fore our  submission  should  be  sincere  and  even 
cheerful,  though  our  prayer  was  importunate  and 
sorrowful.  If  we  would  pray  with  Jesus,  we 
must  pray  with  the  same  temper  of  final  and 
complete  resignation  which  animated  his  prayer, 
with  the  same  deep  conviction  that  the  will  of 
our  Father  is  eternal  justice,  and  infinite  wisdom, 
and  infinite  mercy,  and  therefore  not  only  must, 
but  ought  to  be  done.  After  we  have  prayed  to  be 
spared,  and  are  shown  in  the  event  that  we  can- 
not be,  then  it  becomes  us  to  drain  the  cup  as 
he  did,  with  patience  and  fortitude  and  charity 
like  his.  Thus  and  thus  only  are  we  to  enter 
fully  into  his  sympathies.  He  prayed  in  Gethse- 
mane  that  the  cup  of  suffering  and  death  might 
pass  from  him,  and  thrice  he  prayed  so,  but  each 
time  he  also  prayed  that  his  Father's  will  might 
be  done ;  and  when  he  came  to  Calvary,  and  the 
cup  was  held  to  him,  did  he  not  drink  it  ?  Who 
ever  suffered  with  equal  constancy,  with  equal 


202  CHRIST    OUR    FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

dignity  ?  Nor  did  he  at  any  intervening  time  en- 
deavor to  escape  from  pain  or  death,  by  any 
means  which  were  inconsistent  with  truth,  love, 
obedience  and  duty.  This  was  to  him  impossi- 
ble ;  and  it  should  be  so  to  us. 

We  learn  then  from  this  part  of  our  Saviour's 
example,  how  truly  and  entirely  the  tenderest  sus- 
ceptibility to  pain,  and  the  most  intense  desire  to 
be  saved  from  it,  may  consist  with  the  holiest  re- 
signation, and  the  firmest  courage  and  fortitude. 
We  learn  that  though  our  nature  may  be  shaken 
to  its  foundations,  our  virtuous  principles  must  not 
yield  a  hair ;  that  no  prospect  of  suffering  is  to 
move  us  from  the  right ;  that  no  presence  of  suf- 
fering is  to  overcome  our  faith,  our  duty,  our  piety. 
We  are  not  called  to  disguise  the  apprehensions 
and  quailings  of  our  nature ;  for  Jesus  did  not 
disguise  his  ;  but  in  the  same  simplicity,  the  same 
directness  of  spirit,  we  are  to  dare,  in  the  path  of 
evident  duty  and  God's  commandment,  we  are  to 
dare  and  endure  all  to  the  end. 

And  having  learned,  in  much  tribulation  and 
by  solemn  experience,  the  great  value  of  our  Sav- 
iour's sympathy,  it  will  become  us  to  hold  our 
spirits  in  readiness  to  go  forth  and  meet  him  at 
all  times;  to  sympathize  with  him,  who  has  so 


CHRIST    OUR    FELLOW-SUFFERER.  203 

effectually  sympathized  with  us ;  to  serve  him 
who  has  liberated  and  saved  us.  In  many  ways 
this  sympathy  is  to  be  manifested ;  —  by  the 
faithful  deference  which  appeals  to  his  decisions, 
and  is  satisfied  with  them,  and  thankful  for 
them ;  by  the  susceptibility  which  is  alive  to  the 
abuses  of  his  name,  and  the  perversions  of  his 
cause;  by  the  dutiful  observance  which  enters 
into  his  mind,  and  adopts  his  views,  and  looks  on 
mankind  with  those  same  eyes  of  earnest  and  un- 
affected benevolence.  He  is  not  worthy  to  resort 
to  the  sympathy  of  Jesu?,  who  rudely  questions 
his  instructions,  coarsely  discusses  his  claims,  and 
most  irreverently  reversing  the  relation  between 
them,  calls  into  judgment  his  Judge.  He  is  not 
worthy  to  resort  to  the  sympathy  of  Jesus,  who 
is  careless  whether  men  believe  in  him  and  obey 
him,  or  not ;  who  feels  no  emotion  when  his  name, 
at  which  every  knee  should  bow,  is  mentioned 
with  slight  or  dishonor ;  who  is  indifferent  to  the 
advancement  of  his  cause,  and  spread  of  his  reli- 
gion. And  especially  is  he  not  worthy  to  resort 
to  that  blessed  sympathy,  who  is  not  melted  at 
the  thought,  that  it  was  for  him  that  Christ  wept, 
prayed,  and  suffered,  and  does  not  faithfully  re- 
solve that  his  sins  shall  not  crucify  the  Lord 


204  CHRIST    OUR    FELLOW-SUFFERER. 

afresh,  and  that  he  will  live  his  true  disciple,  in 
repentance  and  a  holy  life.  By  humility,  by 
affectionate  reverence,  by  hearty  service,  by  love 
unfeigned,  do  we  enter  into  the  mind  and  heart  of 
the  Saviour,  and  render  back  to  him  our  sym- 
pathy, in  free  though  poor  return  for  his.  Then 
may  we  go  to  him  at  all  times,  by  the  path  of 
this  admitted  communion,  in  times  of  depression, 
of  fear,  of  anguish,  and  we  shall  surely  be  re- 
ceived and  comforted. 

NOVEMBER  5,  1837. 


SERMON    XVII. 


SEEING    THE    DEPARTED. 

A    LITTLE    WHILE,   AND    YE    SHALL    NOT   SEE    ME  ;    AND    AGAIN    A 
LITTLE    WHILE,    AND    YE    SHALL    SEE   ME,   BECAUSE   I   GO   TO  THE 

FATHER. — John  xvi.  16. 

No  wonder  that  the  disciples  were  perplexed  by 
these  asseverations  of  their  Master  and  could  not 
tell  what  he  said.  His  going  away  from  them 
through  the  gate  of  death,  before  he  had  mani- 
fested himself  to  the  world  after  their  ideas  of  the 
Messiah's  glory,  was  an  event  which  hardly  any 
form  of  words  could  make  them  realize.  How  it 
was  that  in  a  little  while  they  should  not  see  him, 
not  see  him  at  the  very  period  when  they  looked 
to  see  him  in  the  true  light  of  his  triumphant 
splendor;  and  again  how  it  was  that  when  they 
did  see  him,  it  should  be  because  he  went  to  his 
Father,  they  could  not  comprehend. 

The  explanation  came  with  the  death,  resur- 
rection and  ascension  of  their  Lord.     When  they 


206  SEEING    THE   DEPARTED. 

had  received  the  Spirit,  and  had  become  spiritual, 
then  they  perceived  the  actual  and  spiritual  sense 
of  these  words,  and  of  others  which  had  been 
equally  unintelligible  to  them  before.  A  little 
while  only  after  he  was  thus  tenderly  conversing 
with  them,  his  form  and  countenance  were  dis- 
figured by  base  and  cruel  usage,  he  was  crucified 
most  ignominiously,  he  was  laid  in  the  tomb,  and 
hid  from  the  sight  of  his  disciples.  They  saw 
him  not.  The  light  of  hope  and  of  his  presence 
were  equally  extinct.  The  fires  of  pride  and 
ambition  were  put  out.  They  were  left  in  dark- 
ness. He  in  whom  they  had  trusted  as  the  re- 
deemer of  Israel,  had  been  taken  away,  before  he 
had.  in  their  view,  even  commenced  the  work  of 
redemption.  It  was  as  if  they  had  been  suddenly 
struck  blind.  Night  was  upon  their  senses,  and 
dismay  and  confusion  in  their  hearts,  concealing 
from  them  the  way  of  Jesus.  He  was  dead  and 
they  did  not  see  him. 

But  again  a  little  while,  at  the  end  of  three 
days  only,  and  they  did  see  him,  in  the  midst  of 
them,  as  before,  and  more  clearly,  more  truly 
than  before.  And  though  he  again  left  them  at 
his  ascension,  they  still  saw  him,  because  he  went 
to  his  Father.  From  that  time  forth  they  always 


SEEING    THE    DEPARTED.  207 

saw  him,  with  the  distinct  vision  of  faith,  at  the 
right  hand  of  God.  They  never  lost  sight  of 
him  more.  They  are  with  him,  and  they  see 
him,  now. 

The  above  cited  passage  of  gospel  history  has 
led  me  to  the  consideration  of  the  two  following 
topics;  the  sudden  disappearance  of  our  best 
blessings  to  the  eye  of  sense,  and  their  perpetuity 
and  immortality  in  the  sight  of  faith  and  reli- 
gion. 

"  What  is  this  that  he  saith,  A  little  while?  we 
cannot  teU  what  he  saith."  Thus  whispers  the 
unenlightened,  unrenewed  human  heart.  A  little 
while !  Is  it  for  a  little  while  that  these  joys, 
these  gifts,  these  friends,  my  pleasant  time,  my 
smiling  fortune,  the  wisdom  which  leads  me,  the 
careful  love  which  provides  for  me,  the  innocence 
which  delights  me,  the  sympathy  which  con- 
stantly, though  almost  imperceptibly,  warms  and 
cheers  me,  even  as  the  patient  sun  ripens  the  fruit, 
—  is  it  for  a  little  while  only  that  these  are  to  be 
mine  1  I  see  no  marks  of  decay,  no  symptoms  of 
disease,  no  indications  of  vanishing  among  them. 
I  look  for  their  increase,  for  their  maturity,  not 
their  blight,  not  their  destruction.  What  is  this 
that  the  monitor,  the  preacher  saith,  A  little 


208  SEEING    THE   DEPARTED. 

while  ?  Oh  no !  it  is  for  a  long,  long  while,  surely, 
that  I  shall  keep  and  enjoy  them. 

And  then  comes  the  shadow,  the  blight,  the 
departure.  The  blessing  disappears  suddenly; 
suddenly  to  us,  because  we  thought  it  was  to 
stay  indefinitely  with  us.  However  long  we  had 
possessed  it,  we  feel  that  it  was  only  for  a  little 
while.  Days  shrink  into  minutes,  and  years 
into  hours.  O  that  while  we  had  it,  we  had 
valued  it  more,  improved  it  more.  But  now  it  is 
vanished,  and  we  see  it  not.  It  appears  not  to 
our  eyes  among  the  providences  of  God.  It  was, 
and  quickly  it  was  not.  That  is  all.  Friends 
go  away,  and  we  are  slow  to  ask  whither  they 
are  gone ;  but  sorrow  fills  our  hearts,  because 
they  go  so  unexpectedly  and  so  soon,  and  be- 
cause we  do  not  see  them.  We  are  unprepared 
to  lose  them,  and  we  feel  and  speak  as  if  we  had 
really  lost  them.  It  had  never  been  promised  us 
that  we  should  retain  them  for  any  length  of 
time.  A  little  while,  a  little  while  only,  is  the 
allotted  duration  of  that  which  is  mortal,  and  the 
warning  of  this  truth  is  fairly  written  and  pro- 
claimed, and  perpetually  repeated.  Did  we  ever 
see  any  sublunary  enjoyment  last  so  long  as  to 
appear  longer  than  a  little  while  to  him  who  held 


SEEING   THE   BEPARTED.  209 

it  1  Do  not  young  children  fall  from  the  tree  of 
life  like  blossoms?  Youths  and  maidens,  do  they 
not  one  year  stand  among  us  crowned  with  bloom 
and  freshness  as  with  flowers,  and  the  next  are 
not  the  only  flowers  near  them,  those  which  are 
growing  on  their  graves?  And  yet  we  are  un- 
prepared. There  is  a  voice  as  explicit  as  the 
words  of  Jesus  to  his  disciples,  constantly  telling 
us,  A  little  while,  and  ye  shall  not  see  the  delight 
of  your  eyes,  —  but  we  understand  it  and  credit 
it  with  no  more  readiness  than  they  did;  and 
when  the  saying  is  fulfilled,  we  are  as  much  dis- 
appointed and  disturbed  as  they  were ;  and  while 
we  are  thus  disappointed,  while  earthly  hopes 
and  thoughts,  fears  and  regrets  alone  are  in  our 
hearts,  we  do  not  see  the  lost  objects  of  our  love. 
They  are  gone;  not  merely  gone  to  another 
place,  but  gone  entirely  away,  vanished,  per- 
ished. We  no  longer  see  them  among  existing 
things,  and  if  Christian  faith  comes  not  into  our 
hearts  with  its  mist-dispelling  light,  we  never  see 
them  more. 

But  it  is  one  of  God's  purposes  in  taking  them 
away,  that  we  shall  see  them  again,  and  in  truer 
and  more  satisfying  aspects  than  before.  "Again 
a  little  while,  and  ye  shall  see  me,  because  I  go  to 

14 


210  SEEING   THE    DEPARTED. 

the  Father."  God  would  have  us  know,  that 
nothing  truly  lives,  but  that  which  lives  with  him 
and  to  him.  The  most  effectual  teacher  of  this 
knowledge  is  death.  Death  compels  us  to  look 
somewhere  for  consolation,  and  we  perceive  that 
it  is  only  to  be  found  in  religion.  The  loss  of 
what  is  transitory,  leads  us  to  an  acquaintance 
with  that  which  is  enduring.  In  a  little  while, 
we  learn  how  vain  it  was  to  have  calculated  on 
the  abiding  of  that  which  must  go  away ;  or  to 
be  surprised  or  offended  at  the  quick  departure  of 
that  which  had  told  us  that  it  was  going  soon. 
Life  spreads  out  before  us  far  beyond  the  earthly 
confines  within  which  we  had  bounded  it,  and 
ends  only  in  God  the  Father,  in  whom  it  first 
began.  And  then  we  see  that  all  our  times  are 
and  ever  shall  be  in  his  hand.  Then  our  bless- 
ings reappear,  each  one  surrounded  with  a  glory. 
In  a  little  while  the  graves  open,  and  the  buried 
ones  rise  up,  clothed  with  white  and  shining  gar- 
ments, and  they  are  now  always  in  our  sight, 
because  they  are  with  their  Father  and  our 
Father. 

There  is  a  sense,  indeed,  in  which  we  see  the 
departed,  without  the  intervention  of  religion,  and 
the  enlightening  process  of  faith.  It  is  an  act  of 


SEEING    THE   DEPARTED.  211 

memory  which  brings  them  before  us  in  both  our 
sleeping  and  waking  hours,  and  the  tenacity  of 
affection  which  will  not  suffer  their  images  to  fade. 
We  dream  of  them  in  the  watches  of  the  night, 
and  every  place  of  their  former  presence,  as  we 
see  it  by  the  light  of  day,  restores  to  us  their  pres- 
ence again.  But  these  visions,  though  there  is 
a  soothing,  or  at  least  a  softening  influence  pro- 
ceeding from  them,  are  deeply  melancholy  in 
their  main  effect  upon  the  mind,  when  not  intro- 
duced and  quickened  by  the  faith  which  shows 
them  in  the  care  of  the  Father  of  spirits.  They 
are  shades  only,  thin  and  flitting  shades,  and  their 
"  airy  tongues  "  can  say  no  more,  than  that  those 
whose  forms  they  are,  are  lost  for  ever.  There 
is  something  very  touching  to  the  human  affec- 
tions, so  touching  that  it  has  been  copied  and  re- 
copied  and  engraved  upon  mourning  seals,  in 
the  thought  which  has  supposed  a  voice  asking 
among  grass-grown  tombs,  "  Where  are  they?  " 
—  and  an  echo  from  those  tombs  returning  for 
answer  the  single  word,  "  Where  !  "  It  is  very 
touching,  because  it  is  so  very  sad;  for  no  one 
will  say,  that  there  is  any  consolation  in  it,  or 
any  Christianity.  It  is  the  wailing  of  a  tender, 
and  yet  a  blind  and  groping,  a  dark  and  faithless 


212  SEEING    THE    DEPARTED. 

heart.  He  who  possesses  the  Christian  hope,  full 
of  immortality ;  he  who  has  perhaps  gained  that 
hope  in  the  midst  of  sorrow,  and  through  the  in- 
strumentality of  death,  will,  in  the  same  situation, 
forbear  to  arouse  by  a  desponding  question  a  de- 
sponding echo  ;  but  he  will  look  up,  and  say,  A 
little  while,  and  I  did  not  see  them,  and  again  a 
little  while,  and  I  did  see  them,  and  I  always  see 
them,  because  they  have  gone  to  their  Father. 

Such  a  vision  is  not  a  vision  of  empty  shades 
but  of  living  souls,  of  living  souls  receiving  con- 
tinually new  streams  of  life  from  the  living  God ; 
and  not  only  life  but  holiness,  which  is  the  better 
life  of  heaven.  Are  we  not  all,  all  who  see  those 
who  are  gone  to  the  Father,  sensible  that  there  is 
an  added  beauty  to  the  countenances,  and  an 
added  excellence  to  the  characters  of  those  whom 
we  thus  see?  And  this  is,  I  am  persuaded,  not 
merely  the  fond  suggestion  of  partiality,  but  an 
admonition  of  the  very  truth,  a  reflection  of  heav- 
enly light  upon  their  forms.  Are  they  not  better, 
purer,  wiser  than  before,  being  now  so  near  the 
Fountain?  Having  gone  to  their  Father,  are 
they  not  holier  than  they  could  have  been  with 
us?  In  his  presence  are  not  the  virtuous  sinless, 
the  just  made  perfect,  and  the  pious  sainted  ?  We 


SEEING    THE   DEPARTED.  213 

see  then  the  reality,  when  we  see  a  glory  round 
them  brighter  than  they  wore  on  earth.  The 
friend  or  relative  who  had  on  earth  a  few  faults, 
and  yet  as  few,  perhaps,  as  mortal  ever  had,  is 
now  to  the  religious  eye  of  our  observant  spirit 
without  fault ;  and  we  are  not  deceived,  for  it  is 
really  so.  The  child  whom  we  regarded  with 
tender,  sometimes  even  with  compassionate  love, 
as  we  gazed  upon  it  in  its  innocence  and  help- 
lessness, we  still  see  as  a  child,  after  it  has  left  a 
world  in  which  it  stayed  a  little  while.  Its  fea- 
tures, its  stature  and  its  voice  are  still  those  of 
infancy,  for  we  can  only  see  it  in  these  respects 
as  it  was  when  it  went  away.  But  is  not  our 
love  now  mingled  with  somewhat  of  reverence,  a 
reverence  different  from  that  which  we  feel  for 
purity  alone,  and  such  as  we  cannot  feel  for  a 
child  on  earth  1  And  is  there  not  deep  truth  also 
in  this  sentiment,  when  we  consider  that  the  child 
is  gone  from  its  parents  on  earth,  and  lives  with 
its  Father  in  heaven  ? 

It  appears  to  me,  that  he,  who,  without  forget- 
ting the  duties  which  are  required  of  him  in  his 
several  relations  here,  yet  lives,  as  a  Christian 
should  live,  more  and  more  in  a  spiritual  world, 
and  sees  the  worthy  ones  who  have  departed,  be- 


214  SEEING    THE    DEPARTED. 

cause  they  have  gone  to  their  Father,  must  feel 
richer  in  his  spirit  within  him,  as  to  outward  ap- 
pearance he  loses  more.  There  is  a  period  of 
mortal  life  at  which  the  friends  who  are  gone, 
begin  to  bear  a  large  proportion  to  those  who  re- 
main, if  they  do  not  even  outnumber  them.  The 
Christian  man  beholds  the  heavenly  company  in- 
crease of  those  who  wait  for  him.  He  finds  him- 
self living  more  in  the  past  and  less  in  the  future 
time  of  his  earthly  life.  He  loses  not  his  cheer- 
fulness, but  he  is  continually  acquiring  thought- 
fulness.  The  bonds  between  heaven  and  him 
are  multiplying.  His  faithful  eye  beholds,  and 
his  faithful  heart  records  the  lengthening  train  of 
the  departed.  And  not  only  his  nearest  relatives 
and  most  intimate  friends  are  on  the  register  of 
his  spirit,  but  those  whose  sweetness  and  worth 
he  has  known  from  the  communion  of  a  few 
years  or  months,  or  even  from  a  few  casual  meet- 
ings, are  all  added  to  the  list  as  they  put  on  im- 
mortality. Of  these  he  thinks,  and  with  these  he 
converses,  with  increasing  frequency,  and  with  a 
pleasure  which  the  unbelieving  and  the  doubting 
cannot  experience.  As  he  lives  on,  the  number 
of  his  earthly  companions  is  every  year  decreas- 
ing, till  perhaps  they  all  go,  and  then  what  is 


SEEING   THE   DEPARTED.  215 

there  for  him  but  to  wait?  He  will  not  grieve, 
but  wait  and  hope.  The  departed  are  not  a 
source  of  sorrow,  but  now  his  only  solace  and 
joy.  In  the  cheerful  words  of  an  old  poet,  he 
may  say, 

"  They  all  are  gone  into  a  world  of  light, 
And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here  ; 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 
And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear." 

You  perceive  that  this  vision  is  necessarily  and 
only  the  vision  of  a  Christian  faith  and  hope. 
The  holy  dead  are  seen,  actually  seen  as  real  ex- 
istences, because  they  go  to  the  Father  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Every  son  and  daughter  of 
God,  sent  here  for  a  little  while,  and  saved  from 
wandering,  returns  home  to  the  Father.  There 
they  dwell,  and  there  the  faith  which  is  confirmed 
in  Christ,  will  clearly  see  them. 

And  the  Captain  of  their  salvation,  the  first- 
born from  the  dead,  through  whom  we  have  this 
sight,  shall  not  he  also  be  seen  by  his  disciples  ? 
Shall  we  not  see  the  great  friend  by  whom  the 
souls  of  our  friends  are  seen?  It  must  be  a 
strange  and  a  cold  faith  which  sees  him  not, 
which  does  not  love  to  see  him,  and  earnestly  and 
affectionately  to  contemplate  him.  He  should  be 


216  SEEING    THE   DEPARTED. 

viewed  not  only  as  the  Teacher  on  earth,  but  as 
the  Lord  in  heaven.  He  was  on  earth  but  a  little 
while.  He  is  risen,  ascended,  gone  to  his  Father ; 
and  there  he  continues  his  offices  of  supervision, 
and  help,  and  mercy,  and  can  never  resign  them 
till  all  is  subdued.  I  am  aware  of  nothing  in  any 
creed  professedly  Christian,  —  I  am  sure  there  is 
nothing  in  mine  —  which  forbids  us  to  see  our 
Lord  as  present  and  glorified,  or  to  draw  near  to 
him  in  the  solemn  exercises  of  the  spirit,  or  to  lift 
up  our  hearts  to  him,  if  not  in  prayer  as  to  the 
Supreme,  yet  in  love  and  praise  and  earnest  ejac- 
ulation, as  to  the  well  beloved  and  highly  exalted 
Son,  the  Head  of  the  Church  below  as  of  the 
Church  above,  through  whom  we  have  access  to 
the  Father,  and  who  ever  intercedes  with  the  Fa- 
ther for  us.  And  the  vision  of  those  departed 
saints  who  live  with  God,  can  be  only  a  full,  and 
satisfying,  and  Christian  vision,  when  it  presents 
them  as  fed  by  the  Lamb  who  is  in  the  midst  of 
the  throne,  and  led  by  him  "  unto  living  fountains 
of  waters," 

MAY  5,  1833. 


SERMON    XVIII. 


THE    CROWN    OF    THORNS. 

AND  WHEN  THEY  HAD  PLATTED  A  CHOWN  OF  THOHNS,  THEY  PUT 
IT  UPON  HIS  HEAD,  AND  A  BEED  IN  HIS  RIGHT  HAND;  AND 
THEY  BOWED  THE  KNEE  BEFORE  HIM,  AND  MOCKED  HIM,  SAY- 
ING, HAIL,  KING  OF  THE  JEWS  !  —  Matt.  xvii.  29. 

• 

NEVER  but  once  did  he  whose  kingdom  was  of 
heaven  and  of  the  spirit,  appear  with  the  out- 
ward insignia  of  royalty ;  and  then  they  were 
forced  upon  him  in  mockery.  Never  but  once 
did  the  Prince  of  Peace  hold  a  visible  sceptre  in 
his  hand ;  and  then  it  was  a  reed,  with  which  his 
scoffing  subjects  smote  him.  Never  but  once  did 
the  King  of  Israel  wear  an  earthly  crown ;  and 
then  it  was  a  crown  of  thorns,  to  pierce  his  sacred 
temples,  and  first  shed  that  innocent  and  precious 
blood,  which  soon  was  to  flow  more  copiously  on 
the  ignominious  tree. 

Our  sympathies  are  strongly  interested  in  this 
scene,  and  our  feelings  of  compassion  for  the  in- 


218  THE    CROWN   OF    THORNS. 

suited  sufferer,  and  of  indignation  against  the  vile 
herd  who  so  pitilessly  abused  him,  are  aroused 
within  us.  And  so  they  ought  to  be.  We  should 
be  unworthy  of  the  name  of  Christians,  and  even 
of  men,  could  we  contemplate  the  bruised  and 
wounded  person  of  our  outraged  Master,  without 
being  deeply  moved;  could  we  see  merit  thus  re- 
jected, holiness  thus  violated,  the  purest  and  most 
disinterested  benevolence  thus  shamefully  reward- 
ed, and  the  serenest  glory  thus  deridingly  and 
painfully  crowned,  without  having  all  the  gener- 
ous passions  of  our  nature  ex  cited- in  behalf  of  the 
meek  and  unresisting  victim. 

But  let  us  quiet  these  passions  now,  and  put 
them  to  rest.  Let  the  soul  separate  itself,  for  a 
while,  from  them,  and  in  calm  abstraction  regard 
this  scene,  with  all  its  spiritual  and  moral  associ- 
ations, and  then  it  will  be  seen  to  be  a  fitting  cor- 
onation. Yes;  that  very  crown  of  thorns,  its 
points  gilded  with  that  sacred  blood,  will  prove  to 
be,  apart  from  the  cruelty,  injustice  and  ingrati- 
tude which  placed  it  there,  the  most  fitting  circle 
for  the  brows  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  King  of 
the  Jews. 

What  other  crown  would  we  wish  to  see  there  ? 
Among  all  the  wreaths  and  diadems  which  have 


THE    CROWN   OF    THORNS.  219 

been  fashioned  by  human  love,  admiration  or  ser- 
vility, or  assumed  by  human  pride  or  power, 
which  would  we  select  as  worthy  to  be  bound  on 
the  Messiah's  head? 

We  have  heard  of  crowns  of  flowers,  worn  on 
occasions  of  joy  and  festivity.  Shall  we  cull  one 
of  these  ?  O  leave  them  on  the  heads  of  the  gay 
and  thoughtless.  Leave  them  to  bloom,  and 
breathe,  and  wither.  Such  poor,  frail  things 
would  ill  become  the  forehead  of  the  King  of 
Righteousness.  We  will  not  join  with  his  ene- 
mies, and  mock  him  too.  We  will  not  mock  the 
Man  of  sorrows  with  a  chaplet  of  flowers.  It  is 
true  that  he  did  not  come  to  forbid  social  plea- 
sures, or  to  frown  away  one  harmless  delight 
from  the  abodes  of  men.  But  it  is  also  true  that 
he  came  to  restrain  excess ;  to  denounce  slothful 
indulgence  and  voluptuousness ;  to  incite  men  to 
serious  usefulness  and  duty,  to  moral  diligence 
and  watchfulness ;  to  refine  and  exalt  their  plea- 
sures, by  redeeming  them  from  the  bondage  of 
sense,  and  uniting  them  with  heavenly  hope  and 
holy  love ;  to  give  reality  and  satisfactoriness  to 
their  joys,  by  resting  them  on  secure  founda- 
tions, and  making  them  innocent,  spiritual,  and 
thoughtful.  This  was  an  essential  part  of  his 


220  THE    CROWN   OF    THORNS. 

mission.  In  performing  it,  who  can  say  that  he 
sought  pleasure,  as  men  are  apt  to  count  pleas- 
ure ?  Who  can  say  that  his  life  was  one  of  ease  ; 
that  his  pathway  ran  through  flowers]  The 
rough  desert  saw  his  temptation  and  his  victory ; 
the  sad  mountains  knew  his  footsteps,  and  lis- 
tened silently  to  his  prayers.  The  devoted  city 
and  the  grave  of  his  friend,  bore  witness  to  his 
tears.  His  whole  life  was  a  toil  and  a  contest. 
From  his  very  birth,  which  was  in  a  manger,  his 
blood  was  thirsted  for  by  jealous  loyalty.  Before 
his  ministry  began,  he  labored  in  an  humble  oc- 
cupation, subjected  to  his  parents.  While  his 
ministry  continued,  he  was  constantly  going 
about  doing  good,  resisting  evil,  and  making  him- 
self acquainted  with  grief,  disease  and  death  in 
all  their  forms,  while  they,  in  all  their  forms, 
heard  his  voice  and  obeyed  it.  Often  was  he 
driven  from  places,  whither  he  had  borne,  and 
wherein  he  would  have  dispensed  the  salvation  of 
God.  He  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head.  How 
could  the  crown  of  pleasure  suit  it  at  all?  It  was 
lifted  up  fearlessly  amid  the  tumults  of  the  popu- 
lace, fearlessly  in  the  presence  of  the  rich  and 
great.  It  has  just  been  bowed  in  meek  submis- 
sion to  drink  the  cup  of  agony  which  his  Father 


THE    CROWN    OF    THORNS.  221 

had  given  him  to  drink.  It  is  now  raised  in  calm 
and  enduring  dignity,  pale  and  bleeding,  in  the 
midst  of  hard-hearted  hirelings,  the  mark  of 
scorn  and  violence,  which  move  it  not.  Ap- 
proach it  not  with  flowers.  Let  the  stern,  sharp 
thorns  remain.  Strip  them  not  off  for  such  a  sub- 
stitute. The  soldiers  were  mistaken  when  they 
thought  to  mock  him.  They  have  woven  the 
noblest  crown  for  the  brows  of  suffering  virtue. 
Let  it  stay  —  till  it  is  changed  by  his  own  Fa- 
ther's hand  for  the  crown  of  eternal  joy  and 
glory. 

But  there  are  crowns  which  monarchs,  conquer- 
ors, and  heroes  wear ;  crowns  of  laurel  for  vic- 
tors ;  crowns  of  gold  and  gems  for  reigning 
princes.  Shall  we  not  choose  one  of  these,  the 
greenest  or  the  brightest,  wherewith  to  crown 
our  Lord  ?  Who  shall  do  it  ?  Who  will  commit 
that  essential  error  of  the  Jews,  by  treating  the 
Messiah  as  a  temporal  conqueror  or  sovereign, 
or  offering  to  him  the  emblems  which  are  so  cov- 
eted by  them  ?  Take  away  the  toys.  Let  them 
not  come  into  this  hallowed  presence.  They 
would  only  show  how  dim  and  worthless  they 
are,  near  to  that  unearthly  majesty,  and  by  the 
side  of  that  crown  of  thorns.  Take  away  the 


222  THE    CROWN   OF    THORNS. 

laurel  wreath  —  it  is  stained  with  human  blood. 
There  is  blood  too  upon  the  thorns  —  but  it  is 
the  Saviour's  own.  It  is  his  own  blood  which  he 
now  begins  to  shed  for  the  liberty  and  the  happi- 
ness of  his  brethren,  and  not  the  blood  of  his 
brethren,  poured  out  after  the  manner  of  conquer- 
ors; for  his  own  aggrandizement.  It  is  his  own 
blood,  dropping  down,  not  for  dominion  or  fame, 
but  for  truth,  and  peace,  and  virtue.  He  fought ; 
but  not  w  ith  carnal  weapons,  and  not  to  enslave 
the  bodies  of  men,  but  to  emancipate  their  minds, 
and  to  redeem  their  souls.  He  fought;  not  at 
the  instigation  of  the  lusts  of  the  flesh,  and  in 
obedience  to  them,  but  undauntedly,  and  perse- 
veringly  against  them.  He  conquered;  but  not 
to  increase  the  power  of  death,  but  to  weaken 
and  destroy  it,  to  overthrow  the  hosts  of  dark- 
ness, to  burst  the  bonds  of  sin  and  the  grave.  In 
this  warfare  he  endured  hardship,  hunger  and 
thirst,  pain,  reproach  and  contradiction.  Humil- 
ity, patience,  meekness,  long-suffering,  forgive- 
ness, it  was  by  these  that  the  battle  was  fought 
and  won.  Take  the  laurel  wreath  away.  It 
tells  not  of  struggles  and  victories  like  these. 
The  bare  and  rugged  thorns  are  a  more  expres- 
sive and  benefiting  crown  for  him  who  loved  us 


THE   CROWN   OF   THORNS.  223 

and  gave  himself  for  us,  and  by  his  death  de- 
stroyed death.  Neither  bring  the  gemmed  dia- 
dems of  royalty  instead.  They  have  been  too 
much  degraded  and  soiled  by  the  hands  which 
have  usurped  them,  and  the  heads  on  which  they 
have  descended.  They  have  clasped  brains 
which  were  on  fire  with  mad  ambition,  or  teem- 
ing with  dark  schemes  of  tyranny.  They  have 
sat  idly  on  heads  which  were  empty  of  thought, 
or  only  thinking  of  some  selfish  indulgence;  care- 
less of  others'  wants,  and  studious  only  to  create 
or  gratify  their  own.  Why  should  they  be 
brought  here  ?  At  best  they  signify  but  a  partial, 
fluctuating  and  tempory  authority,  however  well 
improved  and  exercised,  which  human  fancy  and 
will  may  overturn,  which  a  few  hours  may  trans- 
fer, and  which  death  will  soon  cover  up  in  dust. 
Why  then  should  they  be  brought  here  ?  Here  is 
a  king  anointed  directly  from  on  high,  with  the 
unmeasured  Spirit  of  God.  Here  is  a  ruler  who 
rules  over  the  spirits  of  men,  and  will  rule  for 
ever?  for  his  voice  hath  gone  forth  into  all  lands, 
his  words  unto  the  ends  of  the  world.  Here  is  a 
monarch  unto  whom  power  has  been  committed, 
real,  permanent  power,  over  nature,  over  fear, 
and  over  time.  And  it  is  through  suffering  that 


224  THE    CROWN    OF    THORNS. 

he  holds  it ;  and  in  endurance  and  self-denial  that 
he  exercises  it;  not  consulting  his  own  will,  but 
that  of  his  Father,  nor  his  own  ease,  but  the  wel- 
fare of  all  men,  yea,  of  his  enemies.  Here  he 
stands,  in  the  hall  of  a  Roman  viceroy,  who.  with 
all  his  power,  has  weakly,  and  against  his  own 
wish  and  judgment,  surrendered  a  just  and  inno- 
cent one  to  a  furious  multitude,  and  a  bloody 
death.  Here  he  stands,  amid  insulting  cries  and 
ferocious  blows,  supreme  and  kingly  in  suffering 
love ;  bound,  and  yet  the  only  free  one  there ;  a 
prisoner,  condemned  to  the  cross,  and  yet  redeem- 
ing countless  spirits  from  captivity  and  death, 
through  the  grace  of  his  righteousness,  and  the 
royal  might  of  his  overcoming  fortitude.  Com- 
pare his  crown  of  thorns  with  Pilate's  royal  cinc- 
ture —  and  say  which  is  the  truest  emblem  of  do- 
minion, majesty  and  victory.  Is  there  not  in 
every  firm-set,  pointed  thorn,  more  self-conquest, 
more  spiritual  might,  more  endurance  and  more 
victory,  than  ever  glittered  within  the  compass  of 
a  diadem?  That  twisted  bramble  is  the  true 
crown.  Displace  it  not  from  the  head  of  the  con- 
queror of  death,  the  redeemer  of  men,  and  the 
king  of  Israel. 

Let  that  crown  remain  upon  his  head,  as  he 


THE    CROWN    OF    THORNS.  225 

passes  out  from  before  the  dishonored  chair  of 
justice,  reigning,  though  a  prisoner,  and  doomed 
to  death,  in  calmness  and  dignity  over  the  rude 
waves  of  the  rushing  crowd.  Let  it  remain,  as 
he  proceeds  through  the  streets,  and  on  his  way 
to  Calvary,  pale  and  weary,  moving  to  tears  and 
pitiful  lamentations  the  daughters  of  Jerusalem, 
but  quelling  in  perfect  peace  the  crying  emotions 
of  his  own  nature.  Let  it  remain,  while  he  is 
nailed  to  the  tree,  and  one  after  the  other  his 
hands  and  feet  are  pierced  and  lacerated ;  for  his 
spirit  holds  dominion  over  the  extremest  pains 
which  his  flesh  can  be  made  to  suffer.  Let  it  re- 
main, while  they  who  pass  by  are  wagging  their 
heads  and  scoffing  at  him ;  he  is  far  superior  to 
such  poor  contumely.  Let  it  remain,  while  that 
dying  prayer  is  rising  to  heaven  for  the  forgive- 
ness of  his  enemies  and  deriders,  for  this  is  indeed 
an  act  of  royalty,  such  as  the  world  has  never 
witnessed  before.  Let  it  remain,  while  the  dark- 
ened sun  and  trembling  earth  are  giving  signs  of 
their  homage  to  the  crucified  Son  of  God.  Re- 
move it  not  from  the  cold  brows,  serene  in  death, 
till  he  is  taken  down  from  the  cross,  and  laid  in 
the  new  tomb  beneath.  Then  unbind  it,  that 

15 


226  THE    CROWN    OF    THORNS. 

he  may  rest  a  Sabbath  rest  after  his  labor  and 
his  victory. 

And  let  ns  learn  from  this  crown  of  thorns, 
that  there  is  majesty  in  sorrow,  and  that  suffering 
is  of  itself  a  crown.  Everywhere  there  is  proof 
6f  this  truth.  Who  has  not  been  subdued  and 
awed  by  another's  mighty  sorrow?  Who  has 
not  been  elevated  by  his  own?  It  gives  dignity 
and  wisdom  to  the  simple  :  brings  reflection  and 
sobriety  to  the  thoughtless,  and  makes  the  humble 
and  weak  strong  and  invincible.  The  house  of 
mourning  is  a  palace,  and  they  who  enter  its  gates 
observe  a  reverential  silence,  or  speak  with  rever- 
ence, as  in  the  presence  of  majesty. 

To  resign  ourselves  in  suffering  to  the  will  of 
our  heavenly  Father,  is  to  sit  down  on  the  throne 
of  his  Son.  It  is  especially  so  when  we  endnre 
tribulation  in  the  cause  or  for  the  sake  of  holi- 
ness. "  Blessed  are  they  who  are  persecuted  for 
righteousness'  sake,  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven."  To  suffer  for  truth  and  virtue  is  to 
reign  with  celestial  power,  to  govern  with  spirit- 
ual and  divine  prerogative.  Desires  and  pas- 
sions are  ruled ;  fears  are  banished  ;  worldly  in- 
terests surrender;  vanities  and  pleasures  fall 
down  at  our  feet;  truth  flourishes,  and  virtue 


THE    CROWN    OF    THORNS.  227 

triumphs  and  looks  up,  when  the  soul  has  defied 
temptation  and  violence,  and  put  on  the  crown  of 
stern  endurance.  When  we  suffer  with  manli- 
ness and  love,  murmuring  not,  and  reviling  not, 
do  we  not  wear  our  Saviour's  crown,  and  share 
his  kingdom,  which  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ? 

And  even  when  we  suffer  for  our  sins,  if  grief 
and  pain  bring  consideration,  which  is  their  office, 
if  sorrow  work  repentance,  and  if  thus  our  ex- 
cesses be  cut  off,  our  evil  passions  and  habits  be 
conquered  the  rebellion  of  our  perverted  natur6 
be  subdued,  and  the  recreant  soul  be  led  back 
submissive  to  God,  then  too  will  suffering  be 
the  sign  of  empire,  and  sit  on  our  brows  like  a 
crown. 

Thorns  spring  up  in  the  various  paths  of  all 
our  lives.  We  cannot  avoid  them,  nor  prevent 
many  of  them  from  severely  wounding  us.  But 
let  us  be  comforted,  yea,  let  us  be  thankful  to 
know  that  we  may  weave  them  into  crowns,  "  if 
we  unite  them  to  Christ's  passion,  and  offer  them 
to  his  honor,  and  bear  them  in  his  cause,  and  re- 
joice in  them  for  his  sake." 

MARCH  27,  18S1. 


SERMON    XIX. 


RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS. 

FATHER,    I   WILL    THAT    THEY    ALSO    WHOM    THOU    HAST    GIVEN    MB 
BE   WITH   ME   WHERE   I   AM.  —  John   XVii.  24. 

IT  is  not  from  any  vague  or  doubtful  inferences, 
that  the  Christian  derives  his  belief  of  a  future 
world.  His  faith  is  more  direct  and  steadfast. 
Christ  has  risen  from  the  dead,  and  become  the 
first  fruits  of  them  that  slept.  The  resurrection 
of  our  Lord,  who  was  made  in  all  things  like 
unto  his  brethren,  is  an  argument  for  man's  im- 
mortality which,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  more 
convincing  than  any  which  philosophy  has  urged, 
is  so  plain,  that  its  force  is  immediately  acknow- 
ledged by  the  humblest  understanding. 

My  object  at  present,  however,  is  not  to  con- 
sider the  proofs  of  a  future  existence,  but  assum- 
ing the  truth  of  the  doctrine,  as  revealed  in  the 
Gospel,  to  ascertain  how  far  it  may  encourage  us 
in  a  belief  of  a  re-union  with  our  departed  friends 


RECOGNITION    OF   FRIENDS.  229 

in  heaven.  It  is  an  inquiry  of  the  deepest  inter- 
est. The  hopes  and  fears  which  it  involves,  are 
among  the  most  powerful,  which  can  animate  or 
distress  the  human  bosom.  The  consolations 
which  it  may  afford,  are  among  the  highest  and 
dearest,  which  can  be  brought  to  affliction,  when 
she  sits  in  the  dust  arid  weeps  for  those  who  are 
not.  Let  us  then  inquire  whether,  after  death, 
we  shall,  or  shall  not  be  forever  united  with  each 
other. 

Some,  who  perhaps  have  not  duly  considered 
this  question,  place  it  among  those  merely  specu- 
lative ones,  on  which  we  can  never  hope,  in  this 
world,  to  obtain  any  satisfaction.  Such  are  the 
questions :  —  Where  is  heaven  to  be  ?  What  will 
be  the  occupations  there  ?  What  kind  of  bodies 
shall  we  have,  precisely?  On  these  particulars 
we  may  form  our  several  theories,  if  we  please, 
but  there  exists  no  real  grounds  for  satisfactory 
conclusions.  We  must  remain  in  ignorance ;  and 
it  is  of  no  great  consequence  that  we  should  be 
informed.  But  the  question,  whether  we  shall 
rejoin  and  recognize  hereafter,  those  whom  we 
knew  and  loved  in  this  world,  is  of  quite  another 
character,  of  more  interest  and  importance  than 


230  RECOGNITION   OF    FRIENDS. 

those  others,  and  admitting  of  a  more  easy  and 
reasonable  solution. 

In  support  of  this  opinion,  I  will  observe,  in 
the  first  place,  that  the  resurrection,  which  is  re- 
vealed in  the  Gospel,  is  a  resurrection  of  individ- 
uals, as  individuals ;  of  each  person  in  his  dis- 
tinct personality.  Few  will  maintain  that  com- 
fortless system  of  antiquity,  which  teaches  that 
the  human  soul  is  to  be  absorbed,  after  the  death 
of  the  body,  into  the  spirit  of  the  universe. 
What  satisfaction  can  it  give  us  to  know,  that 
we  shall  not  be  entirely  lost  in  the  great  creation, 
if  we  are  also  to  know,  that  we  must  resign  all 
separate  perceptions  and  pleasures,  and  never 
must  think,  feel  or  enjoy,  as  distinct  existences? 

It  will  be  readily  granted,  therefore,  that  we 
shall  live  hereafter  as  separate  and  distinct  indi- 
viduals; as  truly  so  as  we  exist  in  the  present 
life.  And  yet  from  this  unpretending  and  almost 
self-evident  postulate,  may  clearly  be  deduced 
the  doctrine,  which  some  please  to  call  a  specu- 
lative one,  of  the  re-union  and  recognition  of 
friends  in  a  future  state. 

If  it  be  evident,  that  we  are  to  exist  as  distinct 
individuals,  it  is  equally  evident,  that  we  must 
know  ourselves  to  be  the  same  individuals,  who 


RECOGNITION    OF   FRIENDS.  231 

existed  here.  For  if  we  are  not  to  be  made  cer- 
tain of  that,  a  resurrection  will  be  equivalent  to 
another  creation;  to  the  formation  of  a  race  of 
beings  with  whom  we,  who  now  live  on  the 
earth,  can  have  nothing  to  do.  That  the  belief 
of  a  future  state  may  exert  the  least  influence 
over  our  conduct,  it  is  necessary  that  we  should 
also  believe,  that  we  shall  be  able  to  identify  our- 
selves then,  with  ourselves  as  we  are  now; 
otherwise  our  belief  will  furnish  no  motive  to  vir- 
tue, nor  any  consolation  in  adversity. 

It  is  further  evident,  that  if  we  are  to  be  con- 
scious of  our  identity  with  our  former  selves,  we 
must  be  conscious  of  the  acts  of  our  former  exist-: 
ence ;  especially  if  we  regard  the  future  state  as  a 
state  of  retribution.  For  it  is  impossible  to  con- 
ceive, how  we  can  be  the  subjects  of  reward  or 
punishment,  without  being  sensible  of  what  we 
had  done  or  omitted  on  earth,  to  render  us  deserv- 
ing of  either.  But,  if  we  are  to  be  conscious  of 
the  acts  of  our  former  existence,  if  we  are  to  re- 
member our  conduct  while  we  were  on  the  earth, 
we  must  likewise  remember  those  among  whom 
we  had  our  conversation,  those  who,  in  a  great 
measure,  made  our  conduct  what  it  was.  Our 
duties,  virtues,  faults,  sins  and  vices,  arise  almost 


232  RECOGNITION   OF   FRIENDS. 

altogether  from  the  relations  of  society.  We  can- 
not remember  the  one,  without  calling  to  mind 
the  other.  They  are  inseparably  united,  and  the 
imagination  cannot  disjoin  them.  If  I  should  re- 
member that  I  had  done  a  particular  injury  on 
earth,  I  must  remember  him  whom  I  injured.  If 
I  should  remember  that  I  had  performed  a  partic- 
ular act  of  benevolence,  I  must  remember  the  per- 
son whom  I  assisted.  How  much  more  should  I 
t 

remember,  in  the  review  of  my  life,  those  with 
whom  I  had  been  connected  in  the  daily  and 
most  intimate  intercourse  of  life ;  those  who  had 
exercised  the  most  efficacious  influence,  in  the 
formation  of  my  character  ;  those  who  had  called 
forth,  and  gained,  and  kept  the  best  affections  of 
my  heart.  The  recollection  of  my  former  self  and 
my  former  associates,  must  be  produced  together, 
and  from  the  same  principle.  If  the  one  be  evi- 
dent, the  other  is  so  too. 

We  have  now  a  direct  inference  of  the  mutual 
recollection  of  friends  in  a  future  state,  from  the 
Christian  doctrine  of  the  resurrection  of  each  indi- 
vidual to  a  distinct  existence.  And  so  well  am  I 
satisfied,  that  the  inference  is  rational  and  sound, 
that  I  could  hardly  tell  which  of  the  two  doctrines 
I  most  firmly  believed. 


RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS.  233 

But  the  recollection  of  our  friends,  and  a  re- 
union with  them,  are  not  one  and  the  same  thing. 
There  is  still  another  step  to  be  taken,  from  the 
one  to  the  other.  We  may  recollect  our  friends, 
and  yet  not  be  permitted  to  recognize  or  rejoin 
them.  But  is  this  probable  1  Can  we  for  a  mo- 
ment suppose  it  ?  Will  God  disappoint  our  most 
cherished  expectations  ?  Will  he  condemn  us  to 
preserve  in  our  memory  the  shado\vs  of  those  we 
loved,  while  he  denies  to  us  their  society  and  sym- 
pathy ?  Are  we  not  only  doomed  to  endure  the 
pangs  of  separation  from  them  here,  but  to  know 
in  the  future  world,  that  when  we  left  them  here, 
we  lost  them  forever?  The  supposition  is  in- 
consistent with  the  goodness  of  our  Creator,  and 
should  be  dismissed  as  such.  We  shall  not  only 
remember,  but  rejoin,  in  the  heavenly  world,  the 
friends  from  whom  we  had  been  transiently  sep- 
arated by  death. 

There  is  another  course,  yet  more  direct,  if 
possible,  than  the  above,  which  will  bring  us  to 
the  same  conclusion.  It  involves  no  subtleties  or 
minute  discussions,  and  consists  in  the  answer  to 
as  simple  a  question  as  could  well  be  asked. 
The  question  is  this.  Are  we,  or  are  we  not,  in 
the  world  above,  to  live  alone  1  Are  we,  or  are 


234  RECOGNITION   OF   FRIENDS. 

we  not,  to  lead,  after  death,  an  eternity  of  soli- 
tude ?  This  is  the  only  alternative.  Each  soul, 
in  its  glorified  state,  must  either  have  a  range  en- 
tirely to  itself,  which  shall  never  approach  the 
sphere  of  any  other  soul,  or  it  must  associate  with 
its  kindred.  It  must  exist  in  solitude,  or  in  so- 
ciety. Let  any  one  put  this  plain  question  to 
himself,  and  he  cannot  hesitate  in  giving  his  an- 
swer. He  will  perceive,  that  it  is  contrary  to 
sound  reason,  to  imagine  an  eternal  life  of  loneli- 
ness ;  and  he  will  decide  that  the  life  of  the  bles- 
sed must  be  a  life  of  society.  And  what  society 
can  it  be,  but  that  of  friends?  By  whom  shall 
we  be  surrounded,  but  by  our  friends'?  With 
whom  shall  we  live,  if  not  with  our  friends? 
What  beings  will  be  more  likely  to  partake  with 
us  the  joys  of  heaven,  than  those  who  shared 
with  us  the  joys  and  the  sorrows  of  earth?  What 
souls  will  be  so  probably  associated  with  our 
own,  as  those  to  which  our  own  had  been  en- 
deared and  assimilated  by  education,  habit,  inter- 
course and  time.  Among  the  innumerable  hosts 
of  heaven,  shall  we  be  denied  the  sight  of  those, 
whom,  of  all  others,  we  most  wished  to  see?  In 
the  vast  assembly  of  spirits,  shall  we  search  in 
vain  for  those  whom  we  seek  most  eagerly  ?  Will. 


RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS.  235 

the  only  blank  in  creation,  be  that  which  we  are 
the  most  desirous  to  fill  1  Will  the  only  wounds, 
which  are  left  unhealed,  be  those  which  death 
had  inflicted,  and  which  we  hoped  that  immor- 
tality would  cure?  —  Our  feelings,  our  reason, 
our  common  sense,  will  at  once  reply,  that  it  can- 
not be  so. 

When  we  ask  for  scriptural  evidence  of  the  re- 
union of  friends  in  a  future  state,  are  we  not 
answered  by  every  passage  from  Scripture  which 
speaks  of  that  state  as  a  social  one?  —  and  the 
fact  is,  that  it  is  spoken  of  there  in  no  other  way. 
Whether  the  mention  is  incidental,  or  direct,  it 
constantly  presents  heaven  to  our  thoughts  as  a 
place  or  state  in  which  the  righteous  shall  meet 
together,  not  exist  separately.  If  we  listen  to  Je- 
sus, we  hear  him  declare,  that  where  he  is  his 
disciples  shall  be  also.  If  we  turn  to  the  Epistles, 
Paul  tells  us,  that  when  Christ,  our  life,  shall 
appear,  we  also  shall  appear  with  him  in  glory ; 
and  the  writer  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews 
points  with  rapture  to  the  "  general  assembly 
and  church  of  the  first-born,  which  are  written 
in  heaven."  If  we  pass  over  to  that  grand  vision 
which  concludes  the  books  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, we  hear  in  heaven  "as  it  were  the  voice 


236  RECOGNITION   OF   FRIENDS. 

of  a  great  multitude,  and  as  the  voice  of  many 
waters,  and  as  the  voice  of  mighty  thunderings, 
and  the  voice  of  harpers  harping  with  their 
harps."  The  blessed  in  heaven  are  always  rep- 
resented as  being  in  society,  as  being  with  their 
brethren,  with  angels,  with  their  Saviour,  and 
with  their  God. 

Now  hardly  anything  can  seem  to  be  plainer, 
than  that,  as  heaven  is  a  social  and  not  a  solitary 
state,  they  who  live  together  there  must  know 
each  other,  and  that  they  who  knew  each  other 
here  must  know  each  other  there.  And  it  is  one 
of  the  most  reasonable  of  all  propositions,  that  if 
we  carry  any  affections  with  us  into  the  future 
state,  they  will  fly  first  of  all  to  salute  those,  who 
in  this  state  were  their  cherished  objects.  When 
a  mother  joins  the  heavenly  company  of  the  re- 
deemed, will  she  not,  if  she  retain  anything  of 
her  former  self  and  nature,  if  she  have  not  lost 
her  identity  and  the  consciousness  of  it,  will  she 
not  ask  for  "the  babe  she  lost  in  infancy?"  If 
she  be  herself,  she  will  ask  for  it.  If  God  be 
good,  she  will  find  it,  know  it,  embrace  it.  How- 
she  will  find  it,  by  what  marks  know  it,  and 
with  what  exercises  renew  her  love,  must  be  left 
for  immortality  to  reveal ;  but  the  rest,  the  simple 


RECOGNITION   OF   FRIENDS.  237 

fact  of  recognition  is  plain,  —  so  plain  that  I  am 
disposed  to  think  that  the  reason  why  so  little  is 
said  in  the  Scriptures  of  future  recognition,  is, 
that  it  was  considered  as  naturally  implied  and 
involved  in  the  fact  of  a  future  social  state.  On 
such  a  subject,  intimation  is  equivalent  to  distinct 
declaration,  and  is  sometimes  even  more  forcible. 
Let  us  see  if  there  be  not  such  intimations  of  fu- 
ture recognition  to  be  found  in  the  Scriptures,  as 
amount  to  a  declaration  of  the  fact,  because  they 
cannot  be  fully  explained  except  on  a  supposition 
of  the  fact. 

Recognition  is  intimated  by  exhortations  to 
comfort  on  the  loss  of  friends.  The  burthen  of  our 
sorrow  in  the  loss  of  those  whom  we  love,  is,  that 
we  have  lost  their  society,  which  was  the  very 
dearest  thing  on  earth  to  us ;  the  most  applicable 
consolation  which  can  be  offered  to  alleviate  this 
burthen,  is,  that  their  society  is  not  lost  to  us  for- 
ever, that  we  shall  enjoy  it  once  more,  that  we 
shall  meet  again.  Now,  what  says  St.  Paul,  in 
his  epistle  to  the  Thessalonians  1  u  I  would  not 
have  you  to  be  ignorant,  brethren,  concerning 
them  which  are  asleep,  that  ye  sorrow  not  even 
as  others  which  have  no  hope.  For  if  we  believe 
that  Jesus  died  and  rose  again,  even  so  them  also 


238  RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS. 

which  sleep  in  Jesus  will  God  bring  \vith  him." 
Beautiful  words  of  assurance  and  comfort !  How 
soothingly  they  fall  on  the  wounds  of  the  heart ! 
Well  counsels  the  apostle  soon  after,  "  Wherefore 
comfort  one  another  with  these  words."  And 
what  makes  them  so  peculiarly  comforting  ?  Not 
simply  the  assurance  of  restoration  to  life,  a  wak- 
ing up  of  those  who  have  fallen  asleep,  but  the 
idea  of  collection,  association,  reunion,  which  the 
language  supposes,  and  which  is  so  pertinent  to 
the  case  of  separation  to  which  they  are  ad- 
dressed. As  Jesus  rose  from  the  dead,  even  so 
God  will  awaken  and  bring  with  him,  those  who 
slept  in  him;  "and  so,"  says  the  apostle,  "shall 
we  ever  be  with  the  Lord."  We,  who  have  been 
parted,  shall  again  be  united,  and  Christ  shall  be 
our  head,  and  we  shall  part  no  more.  That  is 
consolation  ;  consolation  which  exactly  meets  the 
case  of  distress. 

To  illustrate  this  by  a  comparison,  let  us  sup- 
pose it  to  be  necessary  that  a  whole  family,  unit- 
ed by  the  tenderest  mutual  affection,  should  re- 
move from  the  land  where  they  had  been  brought 
up  together,  to  another  land,  which  is  distant  in- 
deed, but  far  better ;  and  to  be  equally  necessary 
that  they  should  remove,  not  all  together,  but 


RECOGNITION    OF   FRIENDS.  239 

one  by  one,  and  that  there  should  be  an  interval 
df  a  considerable  space  of  time  between  each  re- 
moval. When  one  member  of  this  family  depart- 
ed for  the  place  of  his  destination,  what  would  be 
the  most  appropriate  consolation  which  could  be 
offered  to  those  who  remained  behind  ?  Would 
they  be  fully  comforted  by  being  told,  that  he 
who  had  just  gone  away,  had  gone  to  a  country, 
which  enjoyed  a  more  delightful  climate  than 
that  which  he  had  left ;  where  he  would  live  in 
health  and  at  ease,  and  that  they  themselves 
would  in  due  season  be  called  to  the  same  coun- 
try, though  to  be  sure  they  would  live  in  different 
parts  of  it,  and  not  be  allowed  to  see  each  other 
any  more  ?  Would  they  be  satisfied  with  this 
account  of  their  dispersion,  though  it  were  to  take 
place  in  "a  land  which  is  the  joy  of  all  lands ?." 
It  would  be  imperfect  consolation  compared  with 
the  assurance  that  in  that  far,  happy  land  they 
were  to  be  reunited,  after  the  term  of  their  tempo- 
rary separation,  and  renew  the  intercourse,  which 
in  a  bleak  clime  and  a  barren  country  had  consti- 
tuted their  joy  arid  their  wealth.  That  would  be 
consolation ;  and  such  a  reunion  would  be  implied, 
and  would  naturally  be  considered  as  implied,  if 
they  were  told  by  a  sympathizing  friend  not  to 


240  RECOGNITION    OF   FRIENDS. 

sorrow  for  their  loss  as  the  hopeless  sorrow,  but 
to  look  forward  to  the  land  where  their  relative 
had  gone,  and  to  which  they  were  to  be  taken 
themselves. 

Other  passages  besides  the  one  above  adduced, 
might  be  quoted,  containing  intimations  to  the 
same  purpose.  They  are  not  direct  declarations 
of  the  fact  of  recognition,  but  we  cannot  read 
them  without  supposing  that  the  fact  was  in  the 
writer's  mind ;  and  that  indeed  he  had  no  other 
thought  on  the  subject,  but  that  he  should  cer- 
tainly know,  after  the  resurrection,  those  whom 
he  had  known  before. 

The  scriptural  evidence  in  favor  of  future  re- 
union and  recognition,  with  which  the  deductions 
of  probability,  the  inferences  of  reason,  and  the 
dictates  of  the  affections  well  coincide,  amounts 
to  this.  Heaven  is  a  social  state.  If  we  and  our 
friends  are  found  worthy  of  an  entrance  into  that 
state,  we.  shall  form  a  part  of  its  society,  and  con- 
sequently remember  and  know  each  other.  They 
who  were  near  to  us  here,  if  they  are  also  near 
unto  God,  will  be  near  to  us  there ;  and,  other 
things  being  equal,  they  will  be  nearer  to  us  than 
others,  simply  because  we  have  known  them 
more  and  longer,  and  loved  them  better,  than 


RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS.  241 

others,  and  have  associations  with  them  so  inter- 
woven with  our  earthly  or  former  life,  that  they 
can  scarcely  be  destroyed  or  disturbed  except 
with  our  consciousness  and  memory. 

Nor  can  I  see  that  the  restoration  of  friends  to 
each  other's  society  in  a  future  state,  is  inconsist- 
ent with  that  universal  and  heavenly  love  which 
will  animate  the  bosoms  of  all  the  blessed.  Par- 
ticular affection  for  those  with  whom  we  have 
been  particularly  connected,  is  not  inconsistent 
with  a  kind  and  generous  affection  for  many 
friends,  for  all  the  good  from  all  ages  and  all 
countries  of  the  world,  to  whom  the  better  coun- 
try will  be  the  great  and  final  meeting-place. 
The  ground  of  this  particular  affection  is,  the  re- 
lation which  individuals  have  held  toward  each 
other  in  this  life ;  and  this  life,  though  short  in 
duration,  and  poor  and  unimportant  when  corn- 
pared  with  the  next,  is  yet  the  introduction  to  the 
next,  the  scene  of  probation  for  the  next,  the  life 
in  which  our  affections  and  virtues  have  been 
formed  and  educated,  and  have  acquired  their 
private  associations ;  and  it  is  therefore  not  to 
be  supposed  that  all  this  is  to  be  made  a  blank 
hereafter,  as  if  it  had  never  been.  "And  when 

16 


242  RECOGNITION    OF   FRIENDS. 

we  reflect,"  says  Bishop  Mant,1  "  on  the  plea- 
sure which  is  imparted  to  our  minds  by  being  ad- 
mitted, after  long  separation,  to  the  society  of 
those  whom  we  have  known  and  loved  from 
early  years,  but  from  whom  we  have  been  con- 
strained to  endure  a  temporary  separation  ;  and 
on  the  special  delight  which  we  experience  from 
renewing,  in  communion  with  them,  old  but  dor- 
mant affections,  retracing  in  conversation  the 
events  of  scenes  gone  by,  and  dwelling  upon 
affairs  of  mutual  personal  interest;  a  delight 
which  the  formation  of  no  new  acquaintance, 
however  virtuous,  however  intelligent,  however 
amiable,  is  for  the  most  part  found  capable  of  con- 
ferring ;  it  may  be  thought  probable,  that  among 
their  future  associates  considered  as  constituents 
of  the  happiness  of  the  blessed,  those  whom  they 
have  formerly  known  and  loved  and  cherished, 
will  be  comprehended  ;  and  that  the  company  of 
the  spirits  of  other  just  men  made  perfect,  will 
not  preclude  a  re-admission  to  the  fellowship  of 
their  former  connections  and  friends."  In  short, 
let  it  only  be  premised  that  friends  are  worthy  of 
each  other's  love  in  heaven,  and  it  is  no  more 

1  In  a  small  volume,  entitled,  "The  Happiness  of  the  Blessed." 


RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS. 

than  rational  to  suppose,  that  they  will  derive 
a  peculiar  satisfaction  in  each  other's  society 
there,  from  the  circumstances  with  which  provi- 
dence had  bound  them  together  during  their  so- 
journ on  earth. 

But  here  an  objection  has  been  made,  founded 
on  the  question  of  worthiness.  If  some  with 
whom  the  good  have  been  connected  here  below, 
should,  from  their  unworthiness,  be  excluded 
from  the  delights  and  the  society  of  heaven,  the 
good,  it  has  been  said,  will,  on  the  supposition  of 
their  knowing  this,  suffer  pain,  and  pain  cannot 
be  suffered  in  heaven. 

A  few  considerations  may  remove  this  objec- 
tion. In  the  first  place,  though  pain  will  not  be 
suffered  in  heaven,  there  is  no  reason  to  believe 
that  a  certain  degree  of  regret  may  not,  and  that 
this  regret  will  be  so  consonant  with  our  sense  of 
justice,  that  happiness  will  not  thereby  be  essen- 
tially disturbed.  Heaven  is  represented  as  a 
place  where  there  will  be  "  no  more  pain."  This 
is  in  order  to  give  an  idea  of  its  exemption  from 
the  accidents  and  deaths,  the  sorrows  and  alarms, 
to  which  we  are  subject  here.  But  such  a  rep- 
resentation of  future  bliss,  by  no  means  excludes 


244  RECOGNITION    OF   FRIENDS. 

the  idea  of  imperfection.  And  if  the  soul  is  to 
make  progress  hereafter,  and  rise  from  glory  to 
glory,  and  from  one  step  of  happiness  to  another, 
the  idea  of  imperfection  must  be  necessarily  at- 
tached to  such  a  state,  because  a  state  of  improve- 
ment must  needs  be  a  state  of  imperfection.  God 
himself  is  the  only  and  absolutely  perfect.  If  we 
are  continually  advancing  nearer  to  him,  we  may 
be  satisfied,  grateful,  and  happy,  whether  on 
earth  or  in  heaven ;  and  infinitely  more  happy, 
doubtless,  in  heaven  than  on  earth,  on  account 
of  the  many  glorious  circumstances  which  will 
attend  our  great  change.  But  if  we  remember 
our  former  selves,  we  must  remember  our  former 
sins  of  transgression  and  omission,  and  this  re- 
membrance will  produce  regret,  and  this  regret, 
without  preventing  our  enjoyment  of  heaven's 
felicities,  will,  together  with  other  causes,  main- 
tain within  us  a  constant  humility,  a  virtue  which 
will  not  lose  its  lustre  and  value  amidst  the 
brightest  glories  of  the  New  Jerusalem.  If,  there- 
fore, we  may  remember  with  regret  our  own  past 
offences,  without  losing  the  privilege  of  heavenly 
happiness,  we  may  likewise  view  with  regret  the 
banishment  of  some  of  those  with  whom  we  were 


RECOGNITION   OF   FRIENDS.  245 

connected  on  earth  by  the  ties  of  nature  or  habit, 
and  yet  be  so  enlightened  with  regard  to  the  jus- 
tice and  beneficial  ends  of  that  banishment,  as 
not  to  experience  therefrom  any  suffering  which 
would  embitter  or  be  inconsistent  with  celestial 
blessedness. 

Secondly,  it  must  be  considered,  that  vile  con- 
duct does  alienate  brother  from  brother,  and  im- 
pair affection  here  on  earth.  May  it  not,  there- 
fore, be  presumed  that  the  good  will  not  take  with 
them  into  a  future  state  any  strong  affection,  or 
any  other  than  compassion,  for  those  whose  vices 
have  estranged  affection,  and  weakened,  if  not 
broken,  the  bonds  of  nature  and  of  love.  "  And 
it  may  be,"  again  observes  Bishop  Mant,  "  since 
God's  rational  creatures  are  dear  to  him  accord- 
ing to  their  moral  excellence,  and  since  the  bless- 
ed in  the  future  state  will  be  '  like  God  ; ;  it  may 
be,  that  their  affection  toward  those,  who,  in  their 
earthly  relation,  were  naturally  the  objects  of  it, 
will  be  regulated  by  this  likeness  to  the  Divine 
nature;  and  that,  whilst  it  will  be  ratified,  con- 
firmed, and  strengthened  with  respect  to  such  as 
partake  of  their  Father's  blessing,  and  are  objects 
of  his  love,  it  will  be  annihilated  with  respect  to 
those  who  are  banished  from  his  presence,  and 


246  RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS. 

pronounced  aliens  from  his  affectionate  regard." 
In  one  sense,  God  loves  and  must  forever  love 
all  his  creatures,  —  but  the  love  which  he  bears 
toward  those  who  have  remembered  and  kept  his 
commandments,  must  be  of  a  different  character 
from  that  which  he  bears  toward  those  who  have 
forgotten  and  disobeyed  him.  And  so  in  a  simi- 
lar manner  will  the  love  which  the  beatified  feel 
for  those  with  whom  they  walk  in  heaven  as 
they  have  walked  on  earth,  be  different  from  the 
love  which  they  feel  for  those  who  wandered 
from  them  on  earth  and  meet  them  not  in  heaven. 
God's  love  for  the  latter,  demands  their  punish- 
ment, and  the  love  of  his  servants  toward  them 
will  not  question  its  infliction.  They  will  bow 
before  the  Supreme  Wisdom  and  Goodness.  They 
cannot  regard  as  their  friends  those  who  are  not 
the  friends  of  God.  And  in  this  view,  it  may  be 
said,  that  the  righteous  in  the  future  world  will 
have  all  their  friends  with  them.  They  who 
are  not  with  them  cannot  be  their  friends. 

And  yet  memory  will  be  faithful,  and  love 
may  plead.  And  here  I  come  to  a  consideration 
which  may  obviate  the  difficulty  advanced,  bet- 
ter than  any  other,  and  on  which  better  than  on 
any  other  I  like  to  dwell*  Though  I  fully  be- 


RECOGNITION   OF   FRIENDS.  247 

lieve  that  the  wicked  will  be  punished  hereafter, 
and  will  not  undertake  to  deny  that  they  may  not 
retain  their  wicked  dispositions,  and  thus  bring 
on  themselves  perpetual  punishment,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  their  wickedness  or  their  punishment 
is  necessarily  and  inevitably  eternal.  I  believe 
that  God's  punishments  hereafter,  as  his  chastise- 
ments here,  are  designed  to  be  corrective,  and 
that  on  many,  if  not  on  all,  they  will  have  a 
correcting,  reforming,  and  consequently  restoring 
influence.  I  also  believe,  according  to  apostolic 
teaching,  that  "  charity  never  faileth,"  no,  not 
in  heaven.  And  so  I  believe  that  it  may  extend 
its  pitying  and  saving  regards  to  those  who  most 
need  them,  to  those  who  have  made  themselves 
outcasts  from  the  heavenly  country,  the  city  of 
our  God.  In  what  errand,  in  what  duty  can  the 
blessed  be  more  celestially  employed,  than  in 
bringing  back,  or  endeavoring  to  bring  back,  into 
the  family  of  the  redeemed,  those  erring  and  lost 
ones,  to  whom  nature  had  formerly  bound  and 
endeared  them  ?  May  it  not  be  one  of  the  em- 
ployments, one  of  the  most  glorious  employments 
and  crowning  pleasures,  of  those  who  have  been 
saved  themselves,  to  be  made  instrumental  in  re- 
storing others,  who  once  were  dear,  to  that  peace 


248  RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS. 

of  spirit  which  they  have  madly  destroyed,  to 
that  heaven  which  they  have  justly  forfeited? 
O  who  that  has  been  found  worthy  to  be  a  partaker 
"  of  the  inheritance  of  the  saints  in  light,"  would 
hesitate  to  forego  for  a  time,  and  time  after  time, 
the  society  and  the  joys  of  his  blissful  abode,  that 
he  might  work  upon  the  heart  of  one  whom  he 
had  numbered  among  his  family  on  earth,  and 
place  him  once  more  in  the  same  mansion  with 
himself?  Who  would  not  pray  before  the  mercy- 
seat  to  be  sent  on  such  a  mission  of  mercy? 
"  Let  me  go,"  he  might  say,  "let  me  go  to  the 
exile,  and  persuade  him  to  return.  He  has  suf- 
fered long.  Long  has  he  been  wailing  in  outer 
darkness.  Remorse  must  have  visited  his  burn- 
ing heart.  Solitude  and  anguish  must  have  brok- 
en down  his  perverseness.  He  was  not  always 
perverse  and  wicked.  Through  the  long  vista  of 
ages  I  can  see  him  as  he  once  was.  He  once 
was  a  happy  child,  an  innocent  child,  affection- 
ate and  ingenuous,  and  pure  as  the  light  which 
beamed  from  his  eyes  or  played  on  his  clustering 
hair.  I  have  held  him  in  my  arms.  I  have 
watched  his  smiles  and  dried  his  tears.  I  loved 
him  once.  O  that  I  might  cherish  him  again  ! 
that  I  might  bear  to  him  thy  forgiveness !  that 


RECOGNITION   OF   FRIENDS.  249 

I  might  bring  him  back  to  happiness,  to  heaven, 
and  to  Thee !  "  Would  not  the  Universal  Fa- 
ther grant  the  prayer?  Can  it  be  proved  to  me, 
that  the  saints  and  angels  are  not  and  will  not  be 
occupied  in  fulfilling  his  restoring  purposes? 
Am  I  told,  that  between  the  saved  and  the  lost 
there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed,  so  that  they  who 
would  pass  and  repass  cannot  do  so  ?  I  will  not 
insist  that  this  argument  is  drawn  from  merely 
the  illustrative  part  of  a  parable,  which  is  not  in- 
tended to  convey  either  doctrine  or  fact ;  but  will 
grant,  that  there  must  needs  be  a  profound  sepa- 
ration between  the  happy  and  the  wretched,  the 
acquitted  and  the  condemned,  in  a  future  state ; 
a  separation  which  neither  party  can  pass  over 
at  will.  And  yet,  by  the  permission  of  the  Al- 
mighty, and  on  messages  of  his  own  grace  and 
compassion,  that  gulf  may  be  passed ;  and  what 
gulf  can  there  be  too  wide  for  the  wings  of  love, 
too  deep  or  broad  for  the  passage  of  charity  ? 

The  considerations  which  have  been  men- 
tioned, are  abundantly  sufficient,  to  my  mind,  to 
obviate  the  difficulty  which  they  have  been 
brought  forward  to  answer.  But  if  they  were 
less  convincing,  if  the  difficulty  remained  in  its 
full  force,  yet  the  doctrine  of  future  recognition 


250  RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS. 

would  not  be  disproved.  No  objection  drawn 
from  a  probable  state  of  painful  feeling  for  the 
wicked,  could  overthrow  the  fact  that  heaven  is  a 
social  condition  of  being,  on  which  fact  the  doc- 
trine of  the  mutual  recognition  of  friends  in  heaven 
still  would  rest  unmoved.  This  fact  should  be 
sufficient  to  content  and  console  us.  Heaven  is  a 
social  state,  a  city,  a  kingdom,  a  church,  in  which 
there  is  a  great  assembly,  an  innumerable  compa- 
ny, and  in  which  the  innocent  and  good,  the  ser- 
vants of  the  King  Eternal,  the  spiritual  and  true 
worshippers  of  the  Father,  will  meet  together, 
and  know  each  other,  and  never  be  separated 
any  more.  There  the  parent  will  see  the  child, 
improved  by  heavenly  culture,  and  listen  to  the 
voice,  now  made  more  musical,  which  in  days 
gone  by  was  the  sweetest  music  he  ever  heard. 
There  the  child  will  find  the  parent,  and  hear 
from  him  those  words  of  love  and  wisdom  which 
were  early  lost  to  him  on  earth.  There  brother 
and  sister  will  meet  again,  and  exchange  again 
that  confidence  and  sympathy  which  passed  be- 
tween them  and  united  them  here.  There  the 
widowed  wife  will  meet  the  husband,  and  the 
husband  the  wife;  and  though  tbey  will  be  as 
the  angels,  where  there  is  no  marrying  nor  giving 


RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS.  251 

in  marriage,  the  ties  and  affections  of  earth  will 
not  be  forgotten,  and  in  spirit  they  twain  will  be 
one. 

Years  soon  finish  their  revolutions.  A  few 
more  incidents,  and  the  scene  of  mortal  life  is 
closed.  Time  hastens  to  restore  that  which  we 
thought  it  was  too  hasty  in  demanding.  Death 
promptly  repairs  as  well  as  destroys,  rejoins  as 
well  as  divides,  is  cruel  and  kind  in  quick  succes- 
sion. "All  the  days  of  my  appointed  time  will  I 
wait,"  said  the  patient  man,  "till  my  change 
come."  The  last  change  cannot  be  long  in  com- 
ing to  any.  "  All  the  days  of  my  appointed  time 
will  I  wait,"  is  the  language  of  every  pious  spirit, 
"  till  my  change  come."  All  the  days  are  but 
few.  I  will  wait,  and  hope,  and  cheerfully  trust, 
till  they  are  gone.  The  distance  can  be  but 
small  which  keeps  me  from  those  whom  I  have 
loved,  and  yet  love,  and,  in  the  presence  of  God 
and  my  Redeemer,  and  in  the  light  of  heaven, 
shall  continue  to  love  forever. 

"  Pass  a  few  fleeting  moments  more, 
And  death  the  blessing  shall  restore 

Which  death  hath  snatched  away.; 
For  me  thou  wilt  the  summons  send, 
And  give  me  back  my  parted  friend, 

In  that  eternal  day." 


252  RECOGNITION    OF    FRIENDS. 

NOTE. 

The  preceding  discourse  was  never  preached  as  one  continuous 
sermon.  It  contains  the  substance  of  two  sermons,  one  of  which 
was  written  and  preached  as  early  as  the  year  1819,  and  the  other  in 
the  year  1834,  and  both  of  which  have  been  heretofore  separately 
printed  as  essays,  contributed  by  the  author  to  different  publica- 
tions. 


SERMON    XX. 


VOICES    FROM    HEAVEN. 

AND   THEY   HEARD   A   GREAT    VOICE    FROM    HEAVEN    SAYING    CNTO 
THEM,   COME   UP   HITHEB.  —  Rev.  li.  12. 

AND  we,  too,  hear  voices  from  heaven,  saying 
unto  us,  Come  up  hither.  Did  we  not,  how  low 
and  grovelling  our  desires,  our  pursuits,  our  very 
natures  would  be  !  Did  we  not,  what  a  dusty 
road  our  pilgrimage  would  run  ;  —  hard  to  travel, 
and  yet  more  hard  to  leave  !  How  companionless 
our  souls  would  feel  on  the  way,  as  kindred  souls 
departed,  one  by  one  !  How  silent  and  cheerless 
would  be  the  night  of  our  fortunes,  and  how  tran- 
sient and  profitless  their  day  !  If  the  spirit  were 
not  spoken  to  from  above,  how  it  would  cleave  to 
things  below ;  and  how  dependent  it  would  be 
upon  them,  drooping  when  they  drooped,  and 
falling  when  they  passed  away ;  and  how  dark 
and  destitute  it  would  be  in  the  hour  of  death !  — 
But  now  we  do  hear  voices  from  heaven,  saying 


254  VOICES    FROM    HEAVEN. 

unto  us,  Come  up  hither.  And  our  wayfaring 
hearts  are  cheered,  and  the  book  of  our  life  is  in- 
terpreted, and  our  cares  are  rebuked  and  dispelled 
by  those  clear  and  noble  voices.  The  spirit  looks 
up  as  it  hears  their  sound,  the  sound,  as  it  were, 
of  its  native  language ;  and  feeling  that  it  was 
not  born  from  the  earth  nor  for  it,  frees  itself  from 
earthly  bonds,  takes  sweet  counsel  with  house- 
hold spirits,  and  rises  to  its  native  seats. 

These  voices,  like  that  which  the  two  unburied 
witnesses  of  the  Apocalypse  heard,  are  great 
voices,  full  of  majesty  and  power,  so  that  we  can- 
not fail  to  hear  them,  if  we  have  ears  to  hear. 

There  is,  in  the  first  place,  a  voice  even  from 
the  lower  and  material  heaven,  calling  on  our 
souls,  and  urging  them  to  ascend.  The  stars  of 
the  firmament,  and  the  sun,  and  the  moon,  speak 
as  well  as  shine.  They  "utter  forth  a  glorious 
voice ;  "  a  voice  which  not  only  declares  the  glory 
of  God,  but  exhorts  the  spirit  of  man.  The  pur- 
poses of  their  creation,  and  their  shining,  and 
their  singing,  are  doubtless  manifold  ;  but  one 
purpose  is  to  publish  to  mortals,  that  there  is 
something  above  and  beyond  the  dark  little  globe 
on  which  they  live  and  die ;  yea,  that  there  are 
myriads  of  greater  and  brighter  worlds.  And 


VOICES    FROM   HEAVEN.  255 

what  is  this  but  to  tell  them  not  to  be  devoted, 
not  to  bind  themselves  down,  not  to  pledge  and 
wed  themselves  to  that  one  spot,  but  rather  to 
look  higher  and  further,  and  see  that  there  are 
other  habitations,  and  other  scenes,  and  other 
fields  of  action.  With  a  great  voice,  the  stars 
say  unto  our  souls,  Come  up  hither !  Come  up 
into  the  vast  domains  of  space,  and  count  our 
numbers,  and  compute  our  size,  and  bathe  in  our 
brightness,  and  learn  what  we  can  tell  you  of 
height  and  of  depth,  of  splendor  and  of  power. 
Stay  not  always  below.  Breathe  not  always  in 
mists  and  vapors.  Regard  not  earth  so  exclu- 
sively and  so  long,  as  to  rest  in  the  conclusion 
that  earth  is  all.  But  come  up  hither.  Survey 
our  host.  Tarry  awhile  in  our  company;  and 
behold,  and  see,  and  remember,  that  there  is  a 
universe  above  and  around  you.  —  Thus  speak 
the  stars.  Their  meaning  is  not  to  be  mistaken. 
The  simple  fact,  which  our  very  eyes  reveal  to 
us,  that  over  our  world  there  are  worlds  innumer- 
able, leads  the  spirit  out  from  the  narrow  confines 
of  the  body,  and  lifts  it  above  the  dust  which  the 
body  is,  and  to  which  it  must  return,  and  gives  it 
larger  views,  and  inspires  it  with  hopes  which 
seek  infinity  and  eternity.  Listen  to  the  holy 


256  VOICES    FROM    HEAVEN. 

stars.  Listen  in  the  still  night.  They  watch 
while  the  world  sleeps.  By  their  light  and  their 
beauty,  and  their  vastness,  by  that  elevation  of 
theirs  which  is  congenial  to  spirit,  and  addresses 
itself  to  spirit,  they  will  speak  to  the  soul  that 
watches  with  them,  and  invite  it  upwards  to 
themselves,  where  orb  hangs  above  orb,  and 
darkness  is  not,  and  the  small  and  shaded  earth 
may  be  for  a  time  forgotten.  Astrology  is  not 
altogether  false.  It  was  an  old  superstition, 
which  has  passed  away,  that  the  stars  govern  our 
mortal  destiny.  It  is  an  eternal  truth,  which 
passes  not  away,  that  they  assist  in  revealing  to 
us  our  immortal  destiny,  by  calling  our  souls  up 
into  the  boundless  region  of  the  works  of  God. 

2.  We  do  not  stop,  however,  but  only  begin, 
with  these  works,  all  bright  and  eloquent  as  they 
are.  They  introduce  us  to  him  who  made  them ; 
to  him  from  whose  fountain  they  draw  their  light, 
and  of  whose  voice  their  own  is  but  an  echo. 
God  delegates  not  to  his  creatures,  but  reserves  as 
his  own  right,  the  highest  converse  with  his  like- 
ness, the  human  soul.  He  is  the  Father  of  spir- 
its, and  he  will  speak  himself  to  his  children. 
And  from  the  heaven  where  he  dwelleth,  he  says 
to  them,  Come  up  hither.  The  hopes  which  he 


VOICES    FROM   HEAVEN.  257 

has  imprinted  within  us  so  plainly  and  durably 
that  doubt  and  fear  cannot  greatly  obscure,  nor 
vice  itself  completely  erase  them;  the  longings 
which  we  experience  after  a  good,  a  glory,  and  a 
permanence  which  we  find  not  here;  the  desire 
and  capacity  of  improvement  which  are  never 
filled  nor  exhausted  here;  the  affections  which 
cannot  rest  here,  but  are  attracted  continu- 
ally, though  oftentimes  insensibly  upward ;  the 
thoughts  which  will  be  searching  into  the  future, 
and  turn  not  back  at  the  gate  of  death,  but  keep 
on  searching  beyond  the  grave ;  the  promises 
which  are  written  in  the  pages  of  his  recorded 
truth ;  the  promises  which  are  spoken  by  his  re- 
peated mercies  and  his  communicated  grace;  all 
these  are  the  sacred  words  of  his  lips,  and  the 
great  voice  from  heaven  with  which  he  says  to 
us,  Come  up  hither.  Come  up  into  the  spiritual 
dwelling  place  of  your  Creator,  and  birth-place  of 
your  own  souls.  Consider  not  that  state  as  your 
end  which  I  have  ordained  to  be  your  probation; 
nor  that  world  as  your  home,  which  I  have  made 
your  pilgrimage.  If  you  are  tired  in  your  jour- 
ney, look  forward  to  your  rest.  If  the  earth 
seems  a  wilderness,  transport  yourselves  in  spirit 
to  the  promised  land.  If  the  pleasures  of  earth 

17 


VOICES    FROM   HEAVEN. 

are  transitory,  and  the  glories  of  earth  are  vain, 
contemplate  the  lasting  and  substantial  delights 
of  the  "  better  country."  Remain  not  so  con- 
stantly in  your  temporal  residence,  as  to  forget 
the  way  to  that  abode  where  my  children  are  to 
live  for  ever.  Come  up  hither  by  faith  now,  that 
hereafter  you  may  come  in  by  sight.  Come  up 
by  hope,  that  when  hope  shall  disappear,  it  may 
be  swallowed  up  in  fruition.  Come  up  by  char- 
ity and  good  works  done  in  the  body,  that  when 
your  bodies  are  resolved  into  dust,  your  souls 
may  be  prepared  for  that  happy  and  holy  king- 
dom, into  which  sin  and  impurity  cannot  enter. 
Come  up  hither  on  the  wings  of  prayer.  Come 
up  hither  by  the  exercises  of  piety,  and  the 
strength  of  divine  love.  Come,  and  see  my  face, 
and  be  to  me  as  sons. 

Let  us  listen  to  the  voice  of  our  heavenly 
Father,  speaking  to  us  from  the  heaven  to  which 
he  bids  us  rise.  Let  us  be  grateful  to  him  for  the 
paternal  solicitude  which  prompts  him  to  call  us. 
He  would  not  invite  us,  if  he  did  not  desire  our 
presence.  He  would  not  seek  our  souls,  if  he  did 
not  love  them.  He  would  not  thus  consult  for 
our  happiness,  if  our  happiness  were  not  dear  to 
him. 


VOICES   FROM    HEAVEN.  259 

3.  But  there  is  another  to  whom  we  are  dear, 
even  his  own  Son,  who  dwells  with  his  Father ; 
and  he  also  calls  us  from  the  same  heaven,  saying 
unto  us,  Come  up  hither  !  Here  are  the  mansions 
which  I  have  been  preparing  for  my  disciples.  It 
was  to  secure  to  you  this  blessed  rest,  that  on  earth 
I  endured  poverty,  reproach,  and  suffering ;  that 
I  taught,  toiled  and  died ;  that  I  burst  from  the 
tomb  and  rose.  For  this  great  end  did  I  come  to 
you,  that  you  might  come  up  hither  to  me,  that 
where  I  am,  there  ye  might  be  also.  Cause  not 
my  labor  for  you  to  be  vain.  I  earned  my  re- 
ward, that  ye  might  share  it  with  me.  I  have  en- 
tered into  my  inheritance,  that  ye  might  be  fellow- 
heirs  with  me,  and  sit  down  with  me,  in  my  Fa- 
ther's kingdom.  I  would  have  more  guests,  more 
friends,  more  partakers  of  my  glory.  I  would 
not  lose  one  soul  that  I  once  bled  to  redeem. 
Come  up  hither.  There  is  room  for  you,  and  for 
all. 

Loud  and  audible  is  this  voice  of  the  Saviour. 
Its  call  to  the  spirits  of  men  is  constant,  and  never 
to  be  mistaken  by  those  who  will  give  it  any  heed. 
Why  did  he  teach  us  of  heaven,  if  it  was  not  to 
be  the  portion  of  his  disciples  ?  Why  did  he  teach 
us  at  all,  if  here  is  to  be  the  end  ?  He  is  the 


260  VOICES   FROM    HEAVEN. 

way  ;  but  whither,  if  not  to  heaven?  He  is  the 
resurrection  and  the  life ;  but  why,  if  believers  do 
not  rise  and  live?  He  is  the  Captain  of  our  sal- 
vation ;  but  how,  if  his  ransomed  host  pass  not 
through  the  flood  after  their  Leader  ?  And  how 
are  we  his  followers,  if  we  follow  him  not  whither 
he  has  gone  up  on  high  ?  Come  up  hither,  come 
up  hither,  is  the  great  voice  of  our  ascended  and 
glorified  Master  to  the  multitudes  who  know,  or 
may  ever  know  his  name.  Let  our  ready  and 
grateful  answer  be,  Lord,  we  come.  Saviour,  we 
come.  Whither  thou  hast  gone,  and  where  thou 
art,  we  know,  and  the  way,  too,  we  know.  O  that 
we  may  have  strength  and  wisdom  to  persevere 
in  thy  footsteps,  till  we  meet  thee  above,  with 
those  who  have  already  joined  th~e  ! 

4.  And  now  we  hear  other  great  voices  from 
heaven,  saying  unto  us,  Come  up  hither !  They 
are  the  voices  of  "  the  glorious  company  of  the 
apostles,"  "  the  goodly  fellowship  of  the  pro- 
phets," "  the  noble  army  of  martyrs,"  the  innu- 
merable multitude  of  saints  and  sealed  servants 
of  God,  which  no  man  can  number,  of  all  nations 
and  kindreds  and  people  and  tongues.  Come  up 
hither !  they  cry,  and  witness  our  joys,  and  be 
encouraged  by  our  success.  Ages  roll  on,  but  our 


VOICES    FROM    HEAVEN.  261 

pleasures  are  ever  new.  Your  years  come  to  an 
end,  but  we  have  put  on  immortality.  Your 
days  and  nights  succeed  each  other,  but  there  is 
no  night  here.  Faint  not  at  your  tribulations ; 
if  we  had  fainted,  we  had  not  conquered.  Be- 
hold our  crowns  and  our  palms.  Fight  the  good 
fight,  as  we  did;  and  then  come  up  hither  unto 
us,  and  swell  our  song  of  praise  and  victory,  and 
join  with  us  in  ascribing  blessing  and  honor  and 
glory  and  power  unto  him  who  sitteth  upon  the 
throne,  and  unto  the  Lamb  for  ever  and  ever ! 

Where  the  spirits  of  all  the  just  and  good  and 
pious  and  constant  of  all  past  times  are  assem- 
bled, shall  not  the  spirit  of  every  Christian,  of 
every  rational  man  desire  to  be,  and  strive  to  go? 
Shall  not  theirs  be  the  society  of  his  choice? 
Shall  not  their  abode  be  the  country  of  his  own 
adoption  ?  Will  he  refuse  a  little  labor  for  such 
a  rest?  Will  he  repine  at  a  light  sorrow,  which 
may  work  out  for  him  such  a  weight  of  glory  ? 
He  will  rather  say, 

"  This  is  the  heaven  I  long  to  know; 
For  this,  with  patience  I  would  wait, 
Till  weaned  from  earth,  and  all  below, 
I  mount  to  my  celestial  seat, 
And  wave  my  palm,  and  wear  my  crown, 
And,  with  the  elders,  cast  them  down.." 


262  VOICES   FROM    HEAVEN. 

5.  There  are  few  to  whom  I  am  speaking, 
who  do  not  hear  other  voices  yet,  which,  though 
not  more  animating  than  the  last,  are,  by  the  pro- 
vision of  God,  nearer  to  the  listening  ear,  and 
dearer  to  the  soul.  There  are  few  who  do  not 
number  in  their  families  those  whose  places  are 
vacant  at  the  table  and  the  hearth,  but  who  are 
not  reckoned  as  lost  but  only  gone  before.  And 
when  the  business  of  daily  life  is  for  a  while  sus- 
pended, and  its  cares  are  put  to  rest  —  nay,  often 
in  the  midst  of  the  world's  unheeded  tumult  — 
their  voices  float  down  clearly  and  distinctly 
from  heaven,  and  say  to  their  own,  Come  up 
hither !  Our  infirmities  are  relieved  ;  our  strength 
is  renewed ;  our  fears  and  doubts  are  flown  away  I 
our  sins  are  forgiven.  We  hunger  and  thirst  no 
more.  We  are  disquieted  no  more.  Let  not 
your  spirits  walk  on  in  darkness ;  our  darkness  is 
all  dispersed.  Weep  not  for  us ;  our  tears  are  all 
wiped  away.  Forget  not  the  duties  which  re- 
main for  you  on  earth;  but  neither  forget  us, 
who  wait  for  you  here.  Hearken  to  us,  and  be 
comforted !  Come  to  us,  when  your  journey  is 
done! 

The  voices  of  the  stars — and  of  their  Maker 
—  of  our  Saviour  Christ  —  of  his  glorified  saints 


VOICES  FROM    HEAVEN.  263 

— of  our  departed  friends  —  how  great  and  inspir- 
ing they  are  !  Can  we  follow  harsh  and  vulgar 
voices  when  such  as  these  are  calling  to  us? 
Shall  the  lower  world  claim  all  our  conversation, 
when  we  may  thus  commune  with  the  inhabit- 
ants, and  with  the  God  of  heaven  1 

By  all  that  is  good,  and  pure,  and  holy,  and 
rational ;  by  the  power  of  virtue,  and  grace,  and 
love,  and  by  a  sound  mind,  let  us  be  persuaded 
to  listen  most  attentively,  most  earnestly,  to  those 
voices  which  best  deserve  the  audience  of  the  un- 
dying soul.  They  are  always  speaking ;  it  is 
ours  but  to  hear.  Let  our  journeying  spirits,  as 
they  travel  onward  through  the  various  passages 
of  mortal  life,  in  its  rough  places  or  smooth,  prize 
every  sound  which  is  borne  to  them  from  the 
mansions  of  their  only  rest 

JANUAHY  1,  1832. 


SERMON    XXI. 


THE    GOOD    REVEALED. 

THERE   BE   MANY   WHO  SAY,  WHO  WILL  SHOW  US  ANY  GOOD  ?      LORD, 
LIFT   THOU   UP   THE    LIGHT   OF    THY    COUNTENANCE    UPON    US.  — 

Ps.  iv.  6. 

"  THERE  be  many  who  say.  Who  will  show  us 
any  good  ? "  The  number  of  those  who  com- 
plain of  their  condition  and  of  human  life,  as  of 
a  bare  waste,  destitute  of  solid  good  and  happi- 
ness, was  large  in  the  days  of  the  Psalmist,  and 
is  so  still.  The  complaint  is  a  serious  one.  On 
what  is  it  grounded  ?  Are  there  just  causes  for 
its  so  often  repeated  utterance  ?  There  must  be 
causes,  powerful  and  permanent  causes,  for  a 
murmuring  lament  which  has  come  down  to  us 
with  the  sounds  of  remote  antiquity,  and  is  heard 
even  now  amid  the  sounds  with  which  the  world 
is  full.  There  must  be  causes  for  this,  but  are 
they  justifying  causes? 
In  order  to  ascertain  this}  we  must  observe  who 


THE   GOOD   REVEALED.  265 

they  are  who  bring  the  heavy  charge  against  our 
life  —  what  manner  of  persons  those  are  who  say, 
Who  will  show  us  any  good  ?  Let  us  see  what 
their  principles  are,  and  what  is  the  main  course 
of  their  conduct,  and  then  we  may  be  able  to 
form  a  judgment  of  the  causes  of  their  com- 
plaint. 

We  shall  be  struck  with  the  fact,  in  the  com- 
mencement of  our  survey,  that  they  who  com- 
plain of  the  sad  vacuity  of  life,  belong  to  very 
different  and  indeed  opposite  classes,  as  respects 
principles  and  conduct.  One  class  is  that  of  the 
religious;  —  the  other,  that  of  the  indifferent  and 
irreligious  ;  —  the  one  full  of  religious  conviction 
and  sentiment,  the  other  destitute  of  them.  It  is 
somewhat  strange,  that  two  descriptions  of  per- 
sons, taking  essentially  different  views  of  the 
ends  of  life,  should  thus  unite  in  an  accusation 
against  it.  It  is  especially  strange,  that  they  of 
the  first  named  class,  who  believe  that  life  is  or- 
dained and  the  world  is  governed  by  a  benefi- 
cent Deity,  should  yet  maintain  that  life  and  the 
world  contain  no  good  to  manifest  that  benefi- 
cence. It  is  especially  strange  —  is  it  not —  that 
they  who  do  not  need  to  have  the  existence  of  a 
merciful  Father  and  a  merciful  Providence  proved 


266  THE   GOOD   REVEALED. 

to  them ;  who  do  not  say,  Who  will  show  us  a 
good,  wise  and  careful  Creator?  should  yet  say, 
Who  will  show  us  any  good  ?  And  yet  they  do 
say  so;  and  they  not  only  say  it,  but  they 
think  it  religious  to  say  it;  they  deem  themselves 
doing  honor  to  their  Maker  when  they  say  it. 

In  this  last  circumstance,  however,  we  have  a 
hint  of  the  causes  of  their  complaint.  Why  can 
they  suppose  it  a  part  of  religion  to  complain  of 
this  life  1  For  no  other  reason,  surely,  than  be- 
cause they  express  thereby  a  faith  in  something 

i 
higher,  better,  more  satisfying.     Their  complaint, 

then,  is  only  an  exaggeration  of  religious  senti- 
ment ;  the  truth  of  the  frailty  of  everything  hu- 
man, and  the  transitoriness  of  everything  earthly, 
carried  into  excess,  and  turned  into  error  • —  error, 
which,  but  for  its  origin,  would  be  sin.  Can  we 
not  say  that  imperfection  intrudes  into  all  that  is 
human,  and  death  often  interrupts  and  soon  will 
terminate  all  the  enjoyment  of  earth,  and  the  soul 
cannot  be  fully  satisfied  with  what  is  temporal 
—  can  we  not  say  this,  without  saying,  Who  will 
show  us  any  good?  Can  we  not  say,  that  all 
which  is  merely  worldly  is  vain ;  that  the  life 
which  is  devoted  to  the  world  is  a  life  lost ;  that 
a  soul  immersed  in  worldly  pursuit  and  pleasure 


THE    GOOD   REVEALED.  267 

is  a  soul  drowned ;  that  sin  has  filled  the  world 
with  sorrow,  and  that  there  is  no  safe  rest  and 
no  unbroken  peace  but  in  heaven  —  can  we  not 
utter  these  truths,  these  solemn  and  momentous 
truths,  without  spoiling  their  truth  and  their  re- 
ligion, by  saying,  Who  will  show  us  any  good  1 
This  want  of  discrimination  between  what  is  frail 
and  what  is  worthless ;  between  what  is  of  the 
earth,  earthy,  and  what  is  on  the  earth  but 
comes  from  heaven ;  between  the  good  which  is 
perverted  and  the  perversion  of  that  good,  is  the 
cause  why  religious  persons  are  found  among 
those  who  disparage  the  whole  scene  of  mortal 
life  in  all  its  aspects.  They  do  not,  in  principle, 
disagree  with  those  who  look  on  life  more  cheer- 
fully, and  speak  of  it  more  thankfully;  and 
therefore  they  should  be  exhorted,  in  the  spirit  of 
brotherly  love,  to  consider  that  it  is  far  from 
necessary  to  deny  all  good  to  the  present  life,  in 
order  to  express  their  conviction  that  there  is 
another  which  is  better ;  or  to  maintain  all  crea- 
ted things  to  be  evil,  in  order  to  enforce  the  truth 
that  the  Creator  is  the  only  good.  They  should 
be  exhorted,  moreover,  to  ponder  the  question, 
whether  they  are  not  injuring  religion,  by  appear- 
ing to  join  with  the  irreligious  in  their  estimate 


268  THE    GOOD    REVEALED. 

of  the  human  condition ;  and  by  inducing  some 
to  think  that  there  is  a  natural  affinity  and  union 
between  religious  views  and  gloomy  views ;  and 
by  leading  others  to  ask  in  fearful  doubt  or  de- 
spondency, whether  God  did  really  intend  to 
place  man  in  a  world  from  which  all  good  was 
excluded.  Let  them  hold  earth  as  cheap  as  they 
please,  in  comparison  with  heaven  —  every  pious 
spirit  will  sympathize  with  them  in  this  —  but  do 
not  let  them  speak  as  if  earth  were  unvisited 
by  the  goodness  of  God;  as  if  the  footstool 
caught  no  rays  from  the  throne. 

But  though  the  religious,  from  an  error  in  the 
application  of  religion,  sometimes  speak  too  dis- 
paragingly and  mournfully  of  human  life,  they 
are  not  apt  to  speak  so  bitterly  of  it  as  do  the  in- 
different and  irreligious.  Oh,  that  bitterness,  that 
scoffing,  blistering  bitterness  !  how  much  worse  is 
it  than  only  meanings  and  tears,  however  mista- 
ken those  moanings  and  tears  may  be.  I  do  not 
know  a  state  of  mind,  from  which  we  should 
more  anxiously  pray  to  be  for  ever  saved,  than 
that,  which  scorning  all  that  awakens  other 
minds  to  gratitude  or  enkindles  them  into  adora- 
tion, deliberately  asks,  Who  will  show  us  any 
gojd  ?  It  either  evinces  a  coldness  and  hardness 


THE   GOOD    REVEALED.  269 

which  no  favors  can  affect,  or  a  satiety  which 
has  lost  all  relish  for  calm  and  virtuous  plea- 
sures. What  can  induce  such  a  state  of  mind  ? 

Can  it  be,  that  life  has  really  been  to  these 
complainers,  a  lot  of  unmitigated  ill?  Has  a 
more  than  usual  share  of  inevitable  misery  been 
the  portion  of  their  cup?  It  does  not  seem  to  be 
so.  They  have  not  suffered  more  than  others 
have,  who  do  not  complain  at  all,  and  who  ac- 
knowledge and  are  thankful  for  a  great  amount 
of  good.  Have  they  been  so  situated  that  they 
have  witnessed  no  good  in  others,  no  kindness, 
no  self-denial,  no  self-sacrifice?  This  can  hardly 
be.  They  have  been  in  precisely  the  same  situ- 
ations in  which  others  have  stood,  who  have  be- 
held unnumbered  instances  of  this  description  of 
good,  and  with  a  swell  of  the  heart  and  a  start- 
ing tear  have  blessed  them.  What  is  the  rea- 
son then,  that  these  complainers  can  see  no  good 
in  life,  and  request  that  it  may  be  shown  to  them, 
as  something  which  has  not  yet  been  discovered? 
Is  it  an  irreligious  forgetfulness  of  all  benefits  re- 
ceived, and  of  all  graces  and  virtues  witnessed  ? 
Tell  me,  complaiuer,  hast  thou  never  seen  a 
bright  day,  nor  felt  a  light  heart?  Hast  thou 
never  tasted  food  that  was  pleasant,  or  sleep  that 


270  THE    GOOD    REVEALED. 

was  refreshing  ?  Hast  thou  never  been  the  ob- 
ject of  a  father's  care,  or  a  mother's  love,  or  a 
labor  of  kindness,  or  a  word  of  encouragement  ? 
Has  no  one  ever  watched  over  thee,  or  worked 
for  thee,  or  prayed  for  thee,  or  defended  thee  ? 
Hast  thou  never  seen  one  tear  of  pity  or  of  thank- 
fulness? Hast  thou  never  seen  a  parent  suffer, 
that  a  child  might  be  saved  from  suffering,  or  a 
man  rescuing  his  fellow  man  from  want  or  from 
sin  ?  I  will  not  believe  that  thou  hast  not  experi- 
enced and  seen  these  things.  Thou  hast  experi- 
enced, thou  hast  seen,  and  thou  hast  forgotten 
them,  ungratefully  forgotten  them.  Where  is  thy 
memory  ?  where  is  thy  justice  ?  where  is  thy 
heart  1 

And  sometimes  is  not  this  discontent  the  fruit 
of  an  inordinate  self-esteem  1  Is  it  not  sometimes 
the  case  that  a  man  will  allow  nothing  to  be  good, 
because  he  thinks  that  nothing  is  good  enough 
for  such  an  one  as  himself?  Are  there  not  those 
who  are  constantly  vexed  by  the  thought  that 
they  always  deserve  more  than  they  ever  obtain, 
and  that  all  benefits  and  blessings  are  but  half- 
payments  for  their  own  merits?  How  much 
good  would  be  revealed,  how  much  happiness 
would  be  secured  to  them,  by  the  aid  of  a  little 


THE    GOOD    REVEALED.  271 

humility  —  that  enlightening,  soothing  virtue  of 
humility. 

But  the  largest  and  sorest  class  of  irreligious 
complainers  are  those,  who,  by  a  course  of  un- 
righteous excess,  have  brought  themselves  into 
that  most  desolate  region  of  satiety,  where  every- 
thing is  faded  and  tasteless,  nothing  is  beautiful, 
nothing  is  good.  They  have  tried  life,  they  say, 
and  have  found  it  disappointing  and  valueless  ; 
they  have  tried  men,  and  have  found  them  de- 
ceitful and  selfish.  Tried  life !  tried  mankind ! 
And  how  have  they  tried  them?  They  have 
abused  good,  and  changed  its  nature,  and  turned 
it  into  evil,  and  then  complained  that  the  evil 
was  not  good.  They  have  sought  for  happiness 
where  experience  and  conscience  and  God  forbade 
them  to  seek  for  it,  and  then  complained  that 
there  was  no  happiness.  They  have  broken  the 
laws  of  enjoyment,  and  then  complained  of  the 
consequences  of  broken  laws.  They  have  dulled 
and  deadened  their  physical  and  moral  sensibility 
to  rational  and  pure  enjoyment,  and  then  com- 
plained that  there  was  nothing  to  enjoy.  By  act- 
ing continually  on  the  selfish  plan  themselves, 
they  have,  as  it  were,  compelled  men  to  be  selfish 
in  self-defence,  and  then  complained  of  their  own 


272  THE    GOOD   REVEALED. 

work.  They  have  frightened  purity  away  from 
them  by  their  impurity,  and  holiness  by  their 
taunts,  and  tenderness  and  devotion  by  their  cold- 
ness, and  then  complained  that  they  were  lonely. 
They  pervert,  they  reject,  they  banish  the  best 
blessings  of  life,  and  then  they  ask,  Who  will 
show  us  any  good? 

I  have  intimated  what  are  some  of  the  chief 
causes  of  the  charge  which  is  not  uncommonly 
preferred  against  our  human  condition.  It  may 
be  added,  that  the  complaint  is  sometimes  of  a 
temporary  character  only  —  the  sudden  cry  of  a 
struck  and  wounded  heart  —  the  voice  of  grief  as 
it  sits  in  darkness,  and  is  unable  for  a  time  to  dis- 
cover any  good  through  the  veil  by  which  it  is 
shrouded.  Of  this  we  need  only  say,  that  it  is 
the  mistake  of  burdened  and  bewildered  feeling, 
which  will  presently  be  rectified  by  that  feeling 
itself. 

But  what  answer  shall  be  given  to  the  com- 
plaining question,  from  whatever  quarter  or  cause 
it  may  proceed  ?  It  is  observable  that  the  Psalm- 
ist gives  no  direct  answer  to  the  many  who  say, 
Who  will  show  us  any  good  ?  His  implied  an- 
swer is  a  prayer ;  •'  Lord,  lift  thou  up  the  light 
of  thy  countenance  upon  us."  But  the  answer 


THE   GOOD    REVEALED.  273 

implied  in  this  invocation  is  full  and  complete. 
Only  let  the  light  of  the  Lord's  countenance  be 
lifted  up  upon  us,  only  let  us  see  God  in  all 
things,  and  all  things  in  God,  and  then  we  shall 
never  be  tempted  to  say,  Who  will  show  us  any 
good  1  Life  will  be  full  of  good ;  blessings  will 
glitter  out  from  the  recesses  and  by-paths  of  our 
'condition,  which  before  lay  hidden  in  shadow ; 
and  our  contentment,  submission,  and  cheerful- 
ness will  be  the  practical  answer  to  those  who 
may  persist  in  saying,  Who  will  show  us  any 
good  ?  The  prayer  is  not,  Lord  show  us,  or 
give  us  good  —  but  lift  thou  up  the  light  of  thy 
countenance  upon  us.  The  good  already  given, 
already  existing,  will  then  show  itself,  will  glow 
all  around  us  under  that  copious  and  hallowed 
light,  and  our  countenances  will  reflect  the  beams 
which  shine  from  the  countenance  of  God. 

Come  ye  doubtful  and  ye  disconsolate,  whoever 
ye  are,  come  and  look  upon  the  scene  of  life,  as 
it  lies  spread  out  in  the  light  of  a  present  Deity. 
God  is  there,  and  in  his  light  you  will  see  light. 
Look  upon  the  human  condition  as  a  condition 
which  he  has  ordained ;  look  upon  human  trials 
as  trials  which  he  has  appointed ;  look  on  human 
affections  as  implanted  by  him  and  struggling 

18 


274  THE    GOOD    REVEALED. 

after  him ;  on  human  sorrows  as  sent  by  him  that 
they  may  lead  weak  and  wandering  souls  for- 
ward and  up  to  him ;  and  on  this  world  of  hu- 
man creatures,  with  all  their  joys  and  griefs,  pur- 
suits and  interests  as  passing  away  indeed,  but 
passing  away  under  his  eye,  that  it  may  pass  into 
a  state  more  exalted  and  enduring  —  look  thus,  I 
say,  upon  life  and  the  world,  and  you  will  not 
ask  Who  will  show  us  any  good  ?  but  you  will 
exclaim,  It  is  all  good  ! 

I  will  not  ask  you  to  fix  your  attention  upon 
that  which  bears  the  common  name  of  good.  I 
will  not  ask  you  to  look  upon  the  fresh  delight  of 
childhood ;  on  the  open  face  of  honesty ;  on  the 
unwearied  exertions  and  sacrifices  of  love:  on 
the  right  hand  of  dispensing  benevolence,  the 
deeds  of  which  its  left  hand  is  not  permitted  to 
know ;  on  the  patriot's  devotedness,  on  the  mar- 
tyr's constancy  ;  —  but  I  will  ask  you  to  contem- 
plate things  which  are  not  so  commonly  called 
good.  Look  with  me  on  the  low  places  of  pov- 
erty —  if  those  low  places  have  the  light  of  God's 
countenance  upon  them  —  and  you  will  see  indus- 
try bringing  health  and  contentment,  and  self- 
denial  educating  the  soul ;  and  privations  borne 
with  a  patience  which  assures  the  mind  at  once 


THE   GOOD   REVEALED.  275 

of  its  own  strength,  and  of  a  strength  greater  than 
its  own.  You  will  see  more  thankfulness  ex- 
pressed for  a  little,  than  you  will  often  see  else- 
where rendered  for  an  over-abundance,  and  more 
aid  imparted  from  that  little,  than  you  will  often 
see  elsewhere  doled  out  from  hoards.  And  you 
will  call  this  good.  —  Look  again  with  me  into 
the  chamber  of  sickness.  Pain  is  there,  but  in 
the  divine  light  you  behold  it  engaged  in  a  holy 
and  blessed  ministry,  subduing  and  softening  the 
spirit,  and  clearing  away  the  films  from  the 
spirit's  eyes.  The  body  is  emaciated,  but  the 
soul  is  enlarged.  The  corporeal  powers  and  func- 
tions are  disorganized,  but  the  mental  powers  are 
in  orderly  and  harmonious  action,  or  resting 
quietly  upon  God.  And  friendship  and  love  are 
there,  with  more  touching  loveliness  than  they 
ever  wore  in  gayer  scenes  ;  watching  night  after 
night,  and  yet  feeling  no  want  of  sleep ;  pouring 
out  attentions  like  unvalued  water,  which  yet 
could  not  be  bought  with  gold;  hanging  as  if 
with  their  own  existence  on  every  variation  of 
symptom  and  pulse  in  the  beloved,  and  yet  re- 
signing the  event  to  supreme  Wisdom.  These 
things  are  there,  and  you  must  say  that  they  are 
good. 


276  THE    GOOD    REVEALED. 

Come  then,  now,  for  now  you  are  prepared, 
into  the  abode  of  death.  Why  is  it  not  dark 
with  unbroken  darkness?  Because  the  light  of 
God's  countenance  is  there,  dispersing  the  dark- 
ness. Death  is  there;  but  in  the  light  of  the  liv- 
ing God,  what  is  death?  The  end  of  toil,  the 
completion  of  the  appointed  task,  the  winning  of 
the  race,  the  rest  after  the  battle,  the  passage  into 
eternal  life.  Death  is  there,  but  so  is  the  victory 
in  which  it  is  swallowed  up.  There  is  rest  on 
that  pale  countenance  —  and  a  smile  is  there 
which  the  victorious  spirit  left  upon  the  lips,  as  it 
ascended  to  its  Father  and  its  God.  You  may 
say  what  you  will  of  the  joys  of  life ;  you  may 
set  upon  them  an  estimate  too  low  or  too  high ; 
but  if  you  have  any  feeling  of  those  direct  revela- 
tions of  peace  and  triumph  and  eternal  repose 
which  are  unfolded  by  the  departure  of  the  right- 
eous, you  will  acknowledge  that  the  greatest 
good  has  been  shown  to  you  in  the  chamber  of 
death. 

Poverty  —  sickness  —  death;  these  are  gener- 
ally enumerated  as  among  the  chiefest  of  evils. 
I  have  not  undertaken  to  say  that  they  are  not 
evils,  or  that  under  certain  circumstances  they 
may  not  be  dreadful  evils ;  —  but,  in  answer  to 


THE    GOOD   REVEALED.  277 

the  question,  Who  will  show  us  any  good?  I 
have  undertaken  to  demonstrate  that  good  was 
to  be  found  in  all  their  several  abodes.  If  in  con- 
nection with  poverty,  sickness  and  death,  there 
is  a  spirit  of  holiness,  a  pious  and  Christian  spirit, 
which  is  the  lifting  up  of  the  countenance  of  God, 
then  is  there  a  true  and  sublime  good  proceeding 
from  them,  which  cannot  elsewhere  be  surpassed. 
And  if  good,  abundance  of  good,  is  to  be  discov- 
ered in  these  unpromising  quarters,  why  not  in 
other  portions  of  man's  condition  and  experience? 
Doubtless  there  are  evils ;  but  many  things  are 
called  evils,  and  dreaded  as  such,  which  a  human 
spirit  ought  to  be  ashamed  so  to  call  and  dread ; 
and  many  things  which  are  really  evils,  are 
invested  with  their  evil  character  by  ourselves. 
Intemperance,  licentiousness,  man's  stony  want 
of  feeling  for  his  brother  man,  ingratitude,  the 
disappointment  and  misery  which  a  child  may 
cause  to  a  parent,  a  husband  to  a  wife,  a  wife  to 
a  husband,  these  are  evils  which  cannot  be 
diminished,  and  need  not  be  magnified  by  any 
art  of  words.  There  is  no  good  in  them.  But 
why?  Because  where  they  are,  the  light  of 
God's  countenance  is  banished  by  transgression, 
and  the  darkness  in  which  they  lie  may  be  felt. 


278  THE    GOOD    REVEALED. 

I  cannot  engage  to  find  good  in  these.  Nor  will 
I  engage  to  find  good  where  multitudes  rush  for 
it  —  in  the  abodes  of  revelry,  in  the  haunts  of 
excess  and  guilty  pleasure.  I  do  not  expect  to 
find  good  in  any  place  where  the  light  of  God's 
countenance  is  not,  and  where  God's  word  de- 
clares, as  well  as  man's  experience,  that  good 
cannot  be.  But  wherever  that  light  can  shine, 
within  the  round  of  human  suffering,  as  well  as 
of  human  enjoyment  there  is  good.  And  if  we 
would  find  good,  if  we  are  honestly  and  earnestly 
seeking  it,  there  is  one  simple  rule  to  guide  us  to 
the  object  of  our  searchings.  We  must  look  for 
the  pure  shinings  of  that  light;  and  instead  of 
idly  and  querulously  asking,  Who  will  show  us 
any  good?  we  must  humbly  ask  that  the  light 
may  be  lifted  up  upon  us,  and  then  all  will  be 
enlightened,  and  all  will  be  good, 

JUNE  21,  1835. 


SERMON    XXII. 

WALKING    BY    FAITH. 

FOB   WE   WALK   BY   FAITH,   NOT    BY   SIGHT.  — 2  Cor.  V.  7. 

IN  certain  respects,  all  men,  whose  mental  facul- 
ties are  in  a  sane  condition,  walk  by  faith ;  and 
in  certain  respects,  all  men,  whose  bodily  eyes 
are  open  and  uninjured,  walk  by  sight.  No  man 
is  such  a  universal  skeptic,  such  a  sense-bound 
infidel,  that  he  does  not  believe  many  things 
which  he  does  not  and  cannot  see ;  nor  is  any 
man  so  complete  a  theorist,  so  wild  a  spiritualist, 
that  he  does  not  regulate  his  movements,  for  the 
most  part,  by  the  evidence  of  his  eye-sight. 

Many  a  person  thinks  he  believes  nothing,  has 
no  faith,  when  in  fact  he  believes  a  great  deal, 
though  not  so  much  as  he  ought.  He  believes 
that  there  is  a  thinking  principle  within  him;  yet 
this  thinking  principle  he  never  saw,  nor  touched, 
tasted,  heard.  He  believes  in  the  existence  of 


280  WALKING   BY   FAITH. 

past  ages,  arid  of  multitudes  of  beings  who  lived 
in  them ;  but  these  he  never  saw.  He  believes 
that  millions  of  men  now  occupy  the  earth,  whom 
he  cannot  see.  He  believes  that  other  millions 
will  occupy  it  when  he  is  dead,  and  can  see  no 
more.  So  far  from  not  possessing  the  eyes  of 
failh,  or  making  no  use  of  them,  he  looks  round 
the  great  globe  with  them,  and  searches  into  the 
mighty  past,  and  gazes  upon  the  unknown  fu- 
ture. 

The  geologist  walks  by  faith.  It  is  faith  and 
not  sight  on  which  he  rears  his  knowledge  and 
fame.  He  finds,  imbedded  in  rock,  certain  por- 
tions of  rocky  substance,  in  the  form  of  large 
bones.  Rocks  in  the  shape  of  bones  —  this  is  all 
that  they  are  to  his  bodily  eyes ;  and  what  they 
are  to  his  eyes,  they  are  to  the  eyes  of  the  sim- 
plest and  most  unlettered  beholder.  Here  is  the 
whole  story,  from  beginning  to  end,  which  they 
tell  to  sight.  But  faith  guides  the  geologist  back 
to  the  time  when  these  stones  in  bony  form  were 
bones  indeed,  and  clothed  with  sinews,  flesh,  and 
^skin;  and,  as  they  are  too  large  to  have  belonged 
to  any  animals  such  as  we  see,  faith  gives  them 
to  animals  such  as  we  do  not  see,  and  exhibits  to 
his  wondering  mind  gigantic  creatures  wandering 


WALKING   BY   FAITH.  281 

and  wading  through  the  tall  reeds  of  a  miry  and 
dimly  lighted  world,  long  ages  on  ages  before 
that  modern  being,  man,  had,  or  could  have  had, 
his  dwelling  in  it.  Their  very  shapes  are  pictured 
to  his  imagination ;  and  he  can  say  what  animals 
now  existing  they  most  resemble;  and  he  can 
follow  them  through  their  trampled  pastures  till 
a  great  ruin  overwhelms  them,  and  their  organ- 
ized remains  are  consolidated  among  the  rocks  of 
a  world  which  is  in  earnest  preparation  for  his 
own  upward-eyed  race  —  a  race  which  will  walk 
by  faith,  and  not  as  those  dull  and  monstrous 
brutes  have  walked,  by  sight. 

The  astronomer  walks  by  faith.  The  stars 
which  present  themselves  to  his  sight,  are  glitter- 
ing points;  and  so  they  are  to  the  eyes  of  all. 
And  even  when  he  uses  his  telescope,  though 
they  are  multiplied,  they  are  not  magnified,  but 
still  remain  glittering  points.  Faith,  with  feet 
which  disregard  the  distance,  and  with  eyes 
which  can  endure  the  splendor,  leads  him  out 
among  them,  and  he  beholds  them,  no  longer 
points,  but  a  perpetually  increasing  multitude  of 
magnificent  suns,  giving  light  to  a  yet  greater 
multitude  of  revolving  worlds.  As  such  he 
speaks  of  them,  confidently,  as  if  he  had  so  seen 


282  WALKING   BY   FAITH. 

them ;  and  yet  with  the  eyes  of  his  body,  he  sees 
no  more  of  them  than  the  peasant  sees,  or  the 
child. 

The  mariner  walks  by  faith.  He  commits  him- 
self, and  his  vessel,  and  his  property,  to  the  heav- 
ing surface  of  an  ocean  which  is  without  a  track, 
and  trusting  to  the  faithfulness  of  a  balanced  nee- 
dle, seeks  a  country  which  he  has  never  seen,  to 
deal  with  people  of  whose  existence  his  eyes  have 
never  certified  him.  All  that  weary  way,  through 
clear  and  stormy  weather,  by  night  and  by  day, 
over  the  unsounded  and  mysterious  deep,  among 
all  its  wonders  and  dangers,  by  faith  in  his  needle, 
by  faith  in  sun,  moon  and  stars,  by  faith  in  the 
invisible  winds,  by  faith  in  what  men  have  told 
him,  he  pursues  his  voyage,  and  arrives  at  the 
unknown  shore. 

If  these,  and  many  others,  indeed  all  others, 
walk,  in  certain  respects,  by  faith,  why  should 
not  Saint  Paul  and  his  fellow  believers,  in  his 
own  and  in  all  times,  walk  in  other  respects  by 
faith?  What  is  there  unreasonable,  out  of  the 
common  course,  contrary  to  analogy,  in  a  Chris- 
tian's walking  by  faith?  In  the  ordinary  concerns 
of  life,  in  his  every  day  transactions,  in  going 
from  house  to  house,  in  all  those  cases  in  which  his 


WALKING   BY   FAITH.  283 

eyes  were  given  him  for  guidance,  he  walks,  as 
others  do,  by  sight.  Why  then  should  it  be  ac- 
counted strange,  that  in  paths  where  eyes  are  of 
no  use,  paths  which  transcend  visible  limits,  and 
stretch  off  beyond  familiar  scenes  and  the  world 
of  sense,  he  should  walk  by  faith?  Are  not 
others  constantly  doing  the  same  —  walking, 
though  not  perhaps  in  his  track,  yet  in  tracks  of 
their  own,  by  faith,  and  not  by  sight  ?  May  he 
not  walk  by  faith,  as  well  as  the  geologist,  the 
astronomer,  the  mariner  1 

Ah  !  but  it  will  be  said,  the  faith  of  the  geolo- 
gist, the  astronomer,  the  mariner,  is  faith  found- 
ed on  evidence,  on  deduction,  on  testimony. 
Well ;  and  is  not  the  faith  of  the  Christian  found- 
ed on  evidence,  on  deduction,  on  testimony?  I 
know  not  of  any  weaker  grounds  on  which  true 
faith  is  founded.  And  the  evidence  is  of  the 
strongest,  the  deduction  is  of  the  clearest,  the  tes- 
timony is  unexceptionable.  Does  the  geologist, 
from  the  examination  of  organic  remains,  deduce 
the  fact  of  an  ancient  form  of  the  world,  fur- 
nished with  its  peculiar  inhabitants  ?  If  he  be  a 
Christian  also,  he  deduces,  from  every  organiza- 
tion which  he  beholds,  the  far  more  important 
fact  of  the  existence  of  a  wise  and  supreme  Mind, 


284  WALKING   BY   FAITH. 

which,  before  and  above  all  other  beings,  pre- 
scribed their  substance  and  structure,  and  pro- 
nounced the  laws  of  their  life.  Does  the  astrono- 
mer, from  the  analogies  of  our  own  solar  system, 
infer  that  twinkling  stars  are  glowing  suns,  and 
that  the  intervening  space  is  divided  by  the  cir- 
cles of  dependant  globes  which  rush  and  roll 
around  their  central  luminaries  1  If  he  be  a 
Christian  also,  he  pursues  a  far  higher  inference, 
and  finds  Eternal  Love  presiding  over  its  own 
creations,  and  an  Eternal  Providence,  which  ac- 
knowledges no  remoteness,  watching  everywhere ; 
and  therefore,  as  he  follows  faith  from  world  to 
world,  he  not  only  wonders  but  adores.  Does 
the  mariner  trust  to  the  evidence  of  voices  or 
books,  when  he  launches  forth  to  seek  men  arid 
countries  which  he  has  never  seen  ?  If  he  be  a 
Christian  also,  he  trusts,  and  why  should  he  not 
trust,  to  the  evidence  of  faithful  men,  for  infor- 
mation which  much  more  deeply  concerns  him, 
—  for  information  concerning  One  who  came 
into  the  world  that  the  world  might  be  redeemed 
from  sin,  and  that  sinners  might  be  restored  to 
holiness ;  of  One  who  died  that  our  evil  passions 
might  be  nailed  to  his  cross ;  of  One  who  rose 
from  the  dead,  and  entered  into  glory,  that  we 


WALKING   BY   FAITH. 

might  rise  from  sloth,  and  worldliness,  and  spirit- 
ual death,  and  seek  a  country  above,  where  the 
leaves  do  not  wither,  and  the  fruits  do  not  fall, 
where  joys  are  pure  and  lasting,  and  sin  and 
death  cannot  come.  On  this  information  the 
Christian  relies,  to  this  evidence  he  yields  his 
trust,  and,  spreading  his  sails,  and  seizing  his 
helm,  he  seeks,  over  the  troublous  waves,  and 
through  the  changing  skies  of  life  and  time,  that 
blessed  land  of  truth  and  peace  which  lies  be- 
yond them. 

And  why  should  he  not  ?  Why  should  he  not 
ground  his  faith  on  the  evidence  of  those  men  1 
Did  ever  men  speak  more  honestly?  Has  their 
veracity  and  trustworthiness  ever  been  disproved  ? 
Were  not  their  lives  without  reproach,  and  con- 
formed to  the  facts  of  which  they  were  the  wit- 
nesses ;  and  were  not  their  souls  filled  with  love 
and  benevolence  such  as  could  have  been  fash- 
ioned after  but  one  model;  and  were  they  not 
consistent  and  steadfast  in  their  testimony,  and 
did  they  not  seal  it  with  their  blood,  looking  to  a 
reunion  with  their  risen  Lord  in  the  heavens  ? 
What  is  the  matter  with  their  evidence,  that  it 
should  not  be  relied  on?  Search  the  world 
over,  and  no  better  evidence  will  be  found.  And 


286  WALKING   BY   FAITH. 

when  the  ends  of  this  evidence  are  considered, 
the  great  ends  of  redemption  and  immortal  life, 
the  collected  records  of  human  history  contain 
not  any  evidence  on  any  subject,  which  can  for  a 
moment  be  compared  with  it. 

Yet  other  evidence  the  Christian  has  on  which 
to  found  his  faith,  which  the  others  have  not, 
and  cannot  have,  for  their  extinct  races,  for  their 
suns  and  worlds,  for  their  distant  voyages.  He 
has  the  evidence  of  his  heart,  of  his  best  and 
highest  affections.  The  geologist  may  ask  of  his 
heart  some  knowledge  concerning  that  strange 
and  ancient  earth  into  which  he  is  prying,  and  it 
will  answer  him  not  a  word.  The  astronomer 
may  ask  his  heart  concerning  that  marshalled 
host  of  shining  spheres,  and  his  heart  will  not 
add  a  feather's  weight  of  testimony  to  that  which 
he  has  already  received.  The  mariner  may  in- 
quire of  his  heart  for  tidings  of  the  land  to  which 
he  is  going,  and  his  heart  will  keep  silence,  for  it 
can  tell  him  nothing.  But  let  the  heart  be  ques- 
tioned in  simple  earnestness  concerning  the  Son 
of  Man  as  he  is  described  by  the  evangelists,  and 
it  will  answer  promptly  that  the  description  is 
true,  and  the  person  real,  for  no  art  or  fancy  could 
have  pictured  a  character  like  his.  Let  the  heart 


WALKING   BY   FAITH.  287 

be  asked  whether  he  who  was  crucified  rose 
again,  and  is  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  and  it 
will  reply  that  it  sees  his  glory,  and  waits  his 
judgment;  that  such  a  being  could  not  have  been 
detained  in  the  cold  arms  of  death,  but  has  surely 
risen  from  the  grave,  and  is  set  down  on  his 
throne.  Let  the  heart  be  asked  whether  earth 
is  enough ;  whether  its  joys  are  permanent,  its 
pleasures  satisfying,  its  peace  unbroken;  and  it 
will  return  a  mournful  negative  to  the  appeal. 
And  let  it  be  asked  whether  there  is  a  heaven  for 
virtue  and  holiness ;  whether  there  is  forgiveness 
for  contrition  and  repentance;  whether  all  that 
was  excellent  and  elevating  in  the  souls  of  those 
whom  we  loved,  perishes  with  the  body,  or  lives 
with  God  ;  and  the  questioned  heart  will  answer 
from  its  fulness,  that  ear-th  will  claim  its  own, 
and  heaven  its  own;  that  dust  will  return  to 
dust,  and  the  spirit  to  God ;  that  they  who  have 
loved  their  Saviour  have  followed  their  Saviour, 
where  they  will  enjoy  his  presence  for  evermore. 
The  heart  never  resigns  the  objects  of  its  pure 
regards;  it  cannot  give  them  up;  the  grave 
claims  them  in  vain.  The  heart  sees  them ;  the 
heart  hears  them;  the  heart  clings  to  them 
always.  And  the  unperverted  heart,  the  honest, 


288  WALKING   BY   FAITH. 

affectionate  heart  adds  its  full  testimony  to  the 
voice  of  revelation,  and  bears  witness  that  God 
lives,  and  Christ  is  risen,  and  the  souls  of  men 
cannot  die;  that  things  seen  are  temporal,  and 
things  unseen  eternal;  that  realities  are  on  the 
other  side  of  the  grave,  and  not  on  this ;  that 
shadows  are  here,  and  that  truth  and  light  are 
there. 

"We  walk  by  faith,"  says  the  apostle,  "and 
not  by  sight."  We  are  guided  by  the  things 
eternal,  rather  than  by  the  things  temporal.  We 
pursue  the  realities,  rather  than  the  shadows. 
We  fasten  our  hold  on  that  which  is  permanent, 
rather  than  on  that  which  our  sight  itself  may 
tell  us  is  passing  away.  In  the  concerns  of  our 
souls  we  regard  the  author  of  our  souls,  and  not 
the  enemies  of  our  souls.  We  strive  to  conform 
our  conduct  to  the  commandments  of  God,  rather 
than  the  custom  of  the  time.  We  keep  our  hearts 
fixed  on  the  world  which  is  to  come,  and  the 
glories  which  will  be  revealed,  rather  than  on  the 
present  world,  which  soon  will  be  no  more,  and 
its  objects,  which  will  soon  vanish  from  our  eyes. 
This  is  the  declaration  of  Saint  Paul ;  and  the 
way  which  he  adopts  and  announces,  is  the  only 
true,  and  rational,  and  living  way.  The  Chris- 


WALKING   BY   FAITH.  289 

tian  has  far  more  reason,  more  evidence  and  bet- 
ter authority  for  walking  by  faith,  in  the  path  of 
conduct  and  the  regulation  of  life,  than  they  who 
question  or  wonder  at  him  can  have  for  walking 
by  sight.  In  his  turn  he  may  question  and  won- 
der at  them.  Why,  he  may  ask,  do  you  walk  by 
sight?  Why,  formed  to  look  upward,  are  you 
continually  bending  your  spirit  towards  earth  ? 
Why  do  you  confine  your  hope,  that  divine  and 
soaring  faculty,  to  fleeting  objects,  which  perish 
while  you  pursue  them  !  Why  do  you  bind  your 
affections  so  tightly  to  things,  which,  though  vis- 
ible, are  visibly  withering,  and  which,  even  if  they 
should  remain,  cannot  follow  you,  cannot  be 
taken  with  you,  out  of  the  world  ?  Why  do  you 
look  for  your  friends  among  the  dead,  —  as  if  the 
clods  of  the  valley  could  bury  goodness  or  hide 
and  cover  sin?  Are  you  yourselves  going  no- 
where but  to  the  grave,  which  necessarily  bounds 
and  terminates  every  earthly  prospect  ?  Alas  ! 
that  all  your  sight,  that  all  your  evidence,  should 
be  shut  up  there,  should  end  by  conducting  you 
there  !  Is  there  no  God,  no  Christ,  no  resurrec- 
tion, no  immortality  ?  Is  the  short  life  of  sense, 
more  worthy  than  the  eternal  life  of  the  soul  ? 
Oh  why  do  you  walk  by  sight  ? 

19 


290  WALKING   BY   FAITH. 

My  friends ;  do  we  walk  by  faith  1  Do  we 
walk  as  if  there  were  other  things  in  existence 
beside  what  we  see,  and  of  far  more  glory  and 
desirableness  than  what  we  see  with  our  mortal 
sight  1  Do  we  walk  as  if  Christ  had  risen  from 
the  dead,  and  revealed  another  world  to  our  souls, 
in  comparison  with  which  this  world  is  nothing, 
but  in  preparation  for  which  this  world  is  every- 
thing? Let  us  ponder  with  ourselves  that  ques- 
tion. And  let  us  remember  that  the  question  is 
not,  whether  we  merely  believe  in  God,  in  Christ, 
in  the  unseen  and  spiritual  world,  but  whether 
we  mould  our  dispositions,  our  purposes,  our  ac- 
tions, after  the  image  of  that  belief;  not  merely 
whether  we  have  faith,  but  more  especially, 
whether  we  walk  by  faith  ;  whether,  believing  in 
God,  we  walk  in  the  way  of  his  commandments ; 
whether,  believing  in  Christ,  we  walk  as  he 
walked,  in  benevolence,  self-denial,  and  piety ; 
whether,  believing  in  his  resurrection,  we  ac- 
knowledge its  power,  and  rise  from  our  sins  and 
set  our  affections  on  things  above. 

APRIL  15,  1838. 


SERMON    XXIII. 


LESSONS    OF    AUTUMN. 

THE  GRASS  WITHERETH,  THE  FLOWER  FADETH  ;  BUT  THE  WORD  OF 
OUR  GOD  SHALL  STAND  FOR  EVER.  —  Isaiah  xl.  8. 

THE  prophet  of  the  old  dispensation  is  quoted  by 
an  apostle  of  the  new.  "The  grass  withereth," 
—  thus  the  solemn  strain  is  echoed  by  the  apostle 
Peter,  —  "  and  the  flower  thereof  falleth  away ; 
but  the  word  of  the  Lord  endureth  for  ever." 

It  appears  to  me  that  these  sublime  words,  so 
full  of  pathos  and  of  trust,  must  have  been  writ- 
ten by  the  one,  and  repeated  by  the  other,  in  that 
season  of  natural  decay,  when  the  grass  was 
withering,  and  the  flower  was  fading  in  their 
sight ;  when  they  saw  with  human  sensations, 
that  all  the  greenness  and  beauty  of  earth  were 
passing  away,  but  felt  at  the  same  time,  as  ser- 
vants of  the  Most  High,  that  the  truth  and  pro- 


292  LESSONS    OF   AUTUMN. 

mises  of  their  God  were  above  change,  and  would 
endure  for  ever. 

Year  after  year,  from  the  time  of  the  apostle, 
from  the  time  of  the  prophet,  from  an  earlier  time 
than  his,  the  same  untiring  chant  has  been 
uttered  by  the  withering  grass  and  the  fading 
flowers.  The  feelings  excited  by  the  autumnal 
season  are  unvaried,  but  they  are  so  true,  so  deep, 
so  near  to  the  fountains  of  our  life,  that  they  are 
always  fresh,  always  powerful.  Time  after  time 
we  may  go  into  the  autumnal  woods,  and,  while 
the  yellow  leaves  fall  slowly  down,  and  touch  the 
earth  with  a  sound  so  soft  that  it  is  almost  si- 
lence, the  self-same  thoughts  shall  be  suggested 
to  us,  and  yet  without  appearing  hackneyed  or 
old.  They  shall  be  as  affecting  the  last  time  as 
the  first.  They  shall  even,  like  the  words  of  fine 
poetry,  or  of  ancient  prayer,  endear  themselves 
by  repetition.  Are  they  not  poetry ;  are  they  not 
prayer?  When  nature  and  the  heart  converse 
together,  they  converse  like  old  friends,  on  famil- 
iar and  domestic  things,  on  truths  which  cannot 
lose  their  interest  —  the  common  but  eternal 
truths  of  mortality.  So  complete  is  the  system 
which  runs  through  the  visible  universe,  that 
there  are  evident  analogies  and  sympathies  be- 


LESSONS   OF   AUTUMN.  293 

tween  our  mortal  condition,  and  the  condition  of 
all  outward  things.  These  analogies  and  sym- 
pathies are  the  same  in  every  age.  They  are 
observed,  felt,  uttered  in  every  age.  The  utter- 
ance of  them  is  transmitted  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
They  often  arise  to  the  same  heart  and  the  same 
lips ;  —  but  man  cannot  weary  of  the  final  truths 
of  his  mortal  condition.  They  are  his  poetry  — 
his  prayer ;  —  his  poetry,  while  they  rest  in  the 
present  world;  and  his  prayer,  when  they  are 
united  with  the  future,  and  with  God. 

And  what  are  the  suggestions  of  autumn? 
What  do  we  think,  and  what  do  we  say,  when 
we  behold  the  leaves  falling,  the  grass  withering, 
and  the  flower  fading?  The  peasant,  as  he 
pauses  in  his  toil ;  the  cottage  dame  as  she  sits  at 
her  door ;  the  man  of  business  when  he  quits  the 
paved  and  crowded  streets ;  the  young  as  well  as 
the  old ;  ay,  and  the  giddy  and  gay  as  well  as  the 
serious,  all  express  essentially  the  same  sentiment 
which  poets  express,  and  which  the  prophet  pro- 
claimed, and  the  apostle  repeated  long  centuries 
ago.  "All  flesh  is  grass,"  says  the  prophet, 
"and  all  the  goodness  thereof  is  as  the  flower  of 
the  field."  "  For  all  flesh  is  as  grass,"  repeats 
the  apostle,  "and  all  the  glory  of  man  as  the 


294  LESSONS    OF    AUTUMN. 

flower  of  grass."  That  is  the  moral  which 
never  tires.  That  is  the  feeling  which  is  as  old 
as  the  time  when  the  first  leaf  fell  dry  and  shri- 
velled at  the  feet  of  the  first  man,  and  as  recent 
as  the  present  season  of  decadence  and  death. 
The  conviction  that  all  the  goodliness  of  man's 
mortal  frame,  that  all  the  glory  of  man's  earthly 
prospects,  hopes  and  plans,  is  the  beauty  of  with- 
ering grass,  and  the  array  of  perishing  flowers,  is 
borne  to  all  hearts  by  the  sighing  winds  of  au- 
tumn. Oh  bond  unbroken  between  nature's  frail- 
est children  and  ourselves !  who  is  not  conscious 
of  its  reality  and  its  force  ?  Oh  primitive  brother- 
hood between  herbs  and  blossoms  and  the  sons  of 
men;  between  the  green  things  which  spring  up 
and  then  wither,  and  the  bright  things  which  un- 
fold and  then  fade,  between  these,  and  counte- 
nances which  bloom  and  then  change,  eyes  which 
sparkle  and  then  are  quenched,  breathing  and 
blessed  forms  which  appear  in  loveliness  and  then 
are  gone !  who  does  not  acknowledge  its  claims 
of  kindred  1  "Surely  the  people  is  grass;"  — 
surely  there  is  no  more  stability  in  the  strongest 
of  mankind,  than  in  "the  grass  of  the  field, 
which  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the 
oven." 


LESSONS    OF   AUTUMN.  295 

Go  into  the  fields  and  woods,  when  "the  wind 
of  the  Lord"  has  blown  upon  them;  when  the 
blasts  and  the  frosts  of  autumn  have  been  dealing 
with  them.  A  change  has  passed  over  every- 
thing, from  the  loftiest  and  broadest  tree  of  the 
forest  down  to  the  little  wild  plants  at  its  roots. 
Winged  seeds  are  borne  about  by  the  fitful 
gusts.  Leaves  descend  in  dark  showers.  Dry  and 
bare  stems  and  stalks  hoarsely  rattle  against  each 
other,  the  skeletons  of  what  they  were.  You 
cannot  raise  your  eyes,  but  you  look  upon  the 
dying ;  you  cannot  move,  but  you  step  upon  the 
dead.  Leaves  and  flowers  are  returning  to  the 
dust; — can  you  forbear  thinking,  that  in  this 
universal  destiny  they  are  like  yourself?  Dust 
thou  art,  and  unto  dust  thou  shalt  return.  Can 
you  forbear  thinking  that  the  successive  genera- 
tions of  men,  like  the  successive  generations  of 
leaves  and  flowers,  have  been  cut  off  by  the 
death-frost,  and  mingled  with  common  earth? 
And  are  not  individual  names  whispered  to  your 
memory  by  the  dying  fragrance,  and  the  rustling 
sounds, — names  of  those  who  flourished,  faded, 
and  fell  in  your  sight?  Perhaps  you  think  of 
the  fair  infant,  who.  like  the  last  tender  leaf  put 
forth  by  a  plant,  was  not  spared  for  its  tender- 


296  LESSONS    OF   AUTUMN. 

ness,  but  compelled  to  drop  like  the  rest.  Per- 
haps your  thoughts  dwell  on  the  young  man, 
who,  full  of  vigor  and  hope,  verdant  in  fresh 
affections,  generous  purposes,  and  high  promise, 
and  bearing  to  you  some  name  which  means 
more  to  the  heart  than  to  the  ear,  friend,  brother, 
son,  husband,  — was  chilled  in  a  night,  and  fell 
from  the  tree  of  life.  Or  perhaps  there  rises  up 
before  you  the  form  of  the  maiden,  delicate  as 
the  flower,  and  as  fragile  also,  who  was  breathed 
upon  by  that  mysterious  wind,  lost  the  hues  of 
health,  and,  though  nursed  and  watched  with 
unremitting  care,  could  not  be  preserved,  but 
faded  away.  You  are  not  alone  in  the  brown 
woods,  though  no  living  being  is  near  you.  Thin 
and  dim  shades  come  round  you  —  stand  with 
you  among  the  withered  grass  —  walk  with  you 
in  the  leaf-strewn  path.  Forms  of  the  loved, 
shades  of  the  lost,  mind-created  images  of  those 
who  have  taken  their  place  with  the  leaves  and 
flowers  of  the  past  summer — they  speak  not, 
they  make  no  sound, — but  how  surely  do  they 
bear  witness  to  the  words  of  the  apostle  and  the 
prophet,  till  you  hear  their  burden  in  every  breeze 
—  the  spontaneous  dirge  of  nature.  "The  grass 
withereth,  the  flower  fadeth,"  is  the  annually  re- 


LESSONS   OF    AUTUMN.  297 

peated  strain  from  the  fields  and  woods,  —  and 
man's  heart  replies,  "  All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all 
the  goodliness  thereof  is  as  the  flower  of  the  field." 
The  listening  Psalmist  heard  the  same  theme  and 
the  same  response,  and  he  too  has  repeated  and 
recorded  them.  "As  for  man,  his  days  are  as 
grass ;  as  a  flower  of  the  field,  so  he  flourished!  ; 
for  the  wind  passeth  over  it  and  it  is  gone,  and 
the  place  thereof  shall  know  it  no  more." 

But  does  the  psalmist,  or  the  prophet,  or  the 
apostle  stop  at  these  melancholy  words,  and  close 
his  lips  after  the  utterance  of  such  plaintive  tones? 
Neither  of  them  does  so.  How  could  inspired 
and  faithful  men,  servants  of  God,  proclaimers  of 
truth  and  religion,  stop  at  the  boundary  of  decay? 
They  pass  immediately  from  the  truth  of  death, 
to  the  truth  of  life.  "  But  the  word  of  our  God," 
says  the  prophet,  "  shall  stand  for  ever."  But 
the  word  of  the  Lord,"  says  the  apostle,  "  endur- 
eth  for  ever."  "  But  the  mercy  of  the  Lord," 
sings  the  royal  bard,  "  is  from  everlasting  to  ever- 
lasting upon  them  that  fear  him."  Happy  will 
it  be  for  us,  if,  while  we  feelingly  perceive  the 
transitoriness  of  nature  and  of  man's  mortal  state, 
we  acknowledge  the  steadfastness  of  God's  word, 
and  the  everlasting  mercy  of  his  providence. 


298  LESSONS    OF   AUTUMN. 

That  which  passes  away  should  speak  to  us  of 
that  which  remains.  The  constant  rotation  of 
decay  is  an  intimation  of  the  Being  who  ever 
lives  to  superintend  it ;  whose  throne  decay  can- 
not harm,  because  decay  itself  is  his  ministering 
servant.  The  certainty  of  death  reveals  an  eter- 
nal word  which  commands  death,  and  which 
both  killeth  and  maketh  alive.  Let  that  word  be 
our  trust,  even  when  we  look  on  the  withering 
grass,  and  think  of  the  perishing  children  of  men. 
Let  it  be  our  trust,  as  it  was  the  trust  of  those 
"  holy  men  of  God,  who  spake  as  they  were 
moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost;  "  and  as  it  always  is 
the  trust  of  those  who  behold  the  operations  of 
that  same  Spirit  in  all  the  signs  of  the  universe, 
and  feel  its  promptings  in  all  the  nobler  aspira- 
tions within  them.  If  we  cannot  trust  in  verdure, 
freshness,  beauty,  which  soon  languish  and  fail, 
in  goodliness  and  glory  which  fade  and  pass 
away,  let  us  trust  in  the  word  which  ordains 
their  vanishing  and  departure,  for  that  word  is 
above  them,  and  must  endure.  If  the  soul  has 
any  trust  —  and  oh  how  it  wrongs  its  nature  and 
neglects  its  endowments,  when  it  has  no  trust  — 
it  must  place  that  trust  in  something  which 
abides.  What  is  abiding  but  the  word  of  God  ? 


LESSONS   OF   AUTUMN.  299 

"  The  grass  withereth,  the  flower  fadeth;  but  the 
word  of  our  God  shall  stand  for  ever." 

The  very  grass  itself  as  it  withers,  and  the 
flower  as  it  fades,  seem  to  express  such  a  trust, 
in  their  humble  manner,  and  to  inculcate  it  on 
their  withering  and  fading  human  brethren. 
How  quietly  the  grass  withers  !  How  submis- 
sively the  flower  bows  its  head  on  its  stalk ;  how 
sweetly  it  exhales  its  last  odors ;  how  peacefully 
it  fades  !  —  Nature  dies  gently.  —  Listen !  Do 
you  hear  any  discordances  in  her  parting  sighs  1 
They  are  all  harmonious  ;  —  as  musical,  though 
with  a  different  character,  as  the  melodies  of 
spring.  You  may  be  affected  with  sadness  as 
you  listen,  but  it  is  a  sadness  which  soothes  and 
softens,  not  disturbs  and  terrifies.  I  can  sympa- 
thize with  the  man  who  relieves  his  full  heart  by 
weeping  amidst  the  autumnal  emblems  of  human 
dissolution  ;  but  I  must  only  wonder  at  him  if  he 
weeps  tears  of  anguish  or  despair.  I  could  not 
weep  so,  surrounded  by  such  mild  and  uncom- 
plaining monitors.  I  perceive  that  the  honors  of 
the  forest  are  resigned  without  a  struggle.  Where- 
ever  I  turn,  all  is  acquiescence.  There  is  no 
questioning  the  will  of  Heaven.  There  are  no 
cries  when  the  leaves  part  from  their  stems,  and 


300  LESSONS    OF   AUTUMN. 

sink  to  the  ground.  How  can  I  do  violence  to 
the  spirit  of  submission  and  trust  which  is  dif- 
fused about  me  1  It  rebukes  my  misgivings,  if  I 
have  indulged  any;  it  silences  my  repinings,  if 
unthinkingly  I  have  uttered  any ;  it  steals  into 
and  hushes  my  heart.  Why  should  we  not  re- 
ceive the  lessons  which  nature  is,  even  though  un- 
consciously, teaching  us  1  Why  should  we  break 
the  general  peace  1  Let  us  trust  in  the  word  of 
God,  though  it  sends  forth  the  decree,  "  Return, 
ye  children  of  men  ! "  Frail,  fading,  perishing, 
—  what  are  we  without  trust  ?  The  support  of 
the  soul  is  trust  in  God,  trust  in  the  eternal,  un- 
decaying  word  of  God. 

And  in  nature's  decline  at  this  season,  it  may 
be  observed  further,  there  is  not  only  the  expres- 
sion of  quiet  submission,  but  of  hope  and  joy  — 
such  joy  as  they  should  feel,  who,  though  in  ex- 
tremity, know  that  the  word  of  the  Lord  endures 
for  ever.  There  are  no  richer  hues  than  those  of 
autumn.  Though  the  leaves  wither,  shrivel,  and 
turn  to  darkness  and  dust,  they  wear  their  bright- 
est colors  just  before  they  die.  The  trees  are  not 
clothed  in  mourning,  but  in  triumphal  robes ;  in 
scarlet  and  gold,  like  kings.  Do  they  not  prefig- 
ure the  deep  and  solemn  joy  which  may  invest 


LESSONS    OF   AUTUMN.  301 

and  imbue  the  soul,  the  trusting  soul,  in  the  pros- 
pect of  the  last  change  ?  The  trees  cannot  antici- 
pate the  new  dress  which  they  shall  put  on,  when 
the  warm  influences  of  spring  return  the  sap  into 
their  branches;  but  man  may  contemplate  the 
season  when  "mortality  shall  be  swallowed  up 
of  life;  "  the  season  not  only  of  restoration,  as  to 
nature,  but  of  inconceivable  addition ;  the  time 
when  a  new  earth  shall  be  under  him,  and  new 
heavens  over  him,  and  glories  of  which  he  can- 
not now  form  any  distinct  conception,  shall  clothe 
the  spirits  of  the  redeemed. 

"The  grass  withereth,  the  flower  fadeth;  but 
the  word  of  our  God  shall  stand  for  ever.  And 
let  me  ask  whether  it  is  not  that  very  withering 
of  the  grass  and  fading  of  the  flower,  which  most 
effectually  brings  us  to  rest  on  the  word  of  God  ? 
The  conviction  of  frailty  which  is  thus  impressed 
upon  the  heart,  obliges  it  to  inquire  for  that  which 
is  durable  and  unchangeable,  and  to  seek  for  its 
security  where  alone  it  is  to  be  found.  While  the 
green  and  glossy  leaves  stand  thickly  on  the  trees, 
we  walk  beneath  them  in  shadow,  and  only  see 
the  earth,  and  the  things  which  grow  out  of  it;  — 
but  when  the  leaves  begin  to  fall,  the  light  comes 
in,  the  view  is  opened  upward,  and  we  behold 


302  LESSONS    OF   AUTUMN. 

the  ever  blue  and  vaulted  sky.  The  goodliness 
of  man  and  his  glory,  are  they  not  likewise  apt  to 
conceal  the  goodliness  and  glory  which  are  above, 
infinitely  above  them  ?  When  they  fade  and  are 
shaken  down,  a  new  radiance  visits  our  eyes,  the 
sunbeams  shine  in  by  day,  and  the  moonbeams 
and  starbeams  by  night,  and  heaven  is  revealed 
to  the  watching  soul. 

"The  word  of  the  Lord  endureth  for  ever. 
And  this  is  the  word,"  adds  the  apostle,  "  which 
by  the  Gospel  is  preached  unto  you."  The  word 
of  God  is  spoken  unto  men.  It  is  the  word  of 
life,  light  and  immortality,  heard  of  old  by  but 
few  and  but  partially,  now  published  openly  unto 
all ;  brought  by  Jesus,  preached  by  his  apostles, 
confirmed  and  sealed  by  his  blood  and  by  theirs, 
the  trust,  the  comfort  and  the  joy  of  those  who 
have  believed  in  and  followed  them.  The  word 
of  the  Most  High  and  Holy ;  his  promise  of  the 
year  which  knows  no  blight  or  fall;  this  shall 
endure,  though  grass  withers,  and  flowers  fade, 
and  hearts  faint,  and  flesh  fails,  and  the  bodily 
forms  and  outward  beauties  and  glories  of  men 
change  and  dry  up  and  drop  to  the  earth  like  au- 
tumnal leaves.  This  is  the  rock  on  which  the 
spirit  of  man  may  lean  amidst  all  temporal  de- 


LESSONS   OF    AUTUMN.  303 

cays.  God  —  heaven  —  eternity  —  what  else  can 
be  the  sure  rest  of  the  soul  1  What  is  the  grass, 
the  flower,  the  leaf,  that  we  should  trust  in  them  ? 
What  is  their  withering,  their  fading,  their  fall- 
ing, that  it  should  disturb  our  trust  ? 

"  Let  sickness  blast,  let  death  devour, 
If  Heaven  must  recompense  our  pains ; 
Perish  the  grass,  and  fade  the  flower, 
If  firm  the  word  of  God  remains !  " 

OCTOBER  25,  1835. 


SERMON    XXIV. 

IT    IS    WELL. 

AND   SHE  ANSWERED,   IT   IS   WELL. — 2  Kings   iv.  26. 

TOUCHINGLY  submissive  and  full  of  pious  trust 
was  this  answer  of  the  Shunammite  woman  to  the 
servant  of  Elisha.  She  had  been  seen  by  the  man 
of  God  afar  off,  as  she  was  coming,  laden  with 
her  sorrows,  to  seek  him,  and  he  had  sent  Gehazi 
to  meet  her,  and  to  inquire  of  her  welfare  and  that 
of  her  family.  The  inquiries  were,  "  Is  it  well 
with  thee  ?  is  it  well  with  thy  husband  1  is  it 
well  with  the  child  ?  "  That  child,  the  child  of 
her  age,  her  only  child,  had  just  died  in  her  arms, 
and  was  then  lying  a  corpse  in  her  house.  "  And 
she  answered,  It  is  well." 

A  son  had  been  given  to  her  in  her  declining 
years,  according  to  the  promise  of  the  prophet. 
He  was  sent  to  her  and  her  husband,  like  a  flower 
in  winter,  to  cheer  -them  with  its  unexpected 


IT   IS   WELL.  305 

fragrance,  and  its  late  and  delicate  beauty.  The 
shadows  of  life's  evening  had  been  slowly  dark- 
ening the  walls  of  their  home,  but  now  they 
smiled  with  an  unwonted  light ;  and  the  stillness 
which  had  settled  over  them  was  broken  by  the 
echoed  gaiety  of  childhood.  Life  had  now  for 
the  parents  a  new  object  and  a  new  purpose. 
They  had  a  being  to  watch  over,  to  provide  for, 
to  rear  and  educate,  whom  by  the  strongest  of 
bonds  and  the  dearest  of  rights  they  could  call 
their  own ;  a  being  whose  hopes  and  prospects 
gave  them  unlocked  for  interest  in  the  future,  and 
whose  presence  was  as  a  constant  memory  of  their 
own  morning.  It  may  well  be  supposed  that 
such  a  family  were  seldom  separated,  and  that 
the  mother,  especially,  would  hardly  ever  trust  her 
child  from  her  sight.  But  the  time  came  when 
he  must  no  longer  be  confined  to  the  house,  but 
as  he  approaches  toward  manhood,  be  permitted 
to  witness  manly  employments  and  labors.  Still, 
however,  if  he  occasionally  quit  one  parent,  it  ia 
only  to  place  himself  at  the  side  of  the  other.  If 
he  leave  his  mother  for  a  short  season,  it  is  only 
to  take  some  message  to  his  father  in  the  field,  or 
bear  him  pleasant  company  at  his  work.  "  And 
when  the  child  was  grown,"  says  this  simple  and 
ao 


306  IT    IS   WELL. 

affecting  history,  "  it  fell  on  a  day,  that  he  went 
out  to  his  father  to  the  reapers.  And  he  said  unto 
his  father,  My  head,  my  head."  A  sudden  illness 
had  attacked  him.  Perhaps  the  hot  sunbeams,  as 
is  not  uncommon,  had  beat  too  fiercely  on  his 
young  head.  His  father,  not  aware  of  his  danger, 
merely  gives  orders  that  he  shall  be  reconducted 
home.  "  And  he  said  to  a  lad,  Carry  him  to  his 
mother."  O  where  but  to  his  mother  shall  the 
child  be  carried ;  and  where  shall  he  be  safe  from 
the  smiting  sun,  and  where  shall  his  sick  head 
rest  and  his  fevered  brain  be  quieted,  and  his 
pains  be  soothed  and  dispelled,  if  not  on  his  mo- 
ther's breast  ?  But  the  blow  had  fallen  too  surely. 
The  lad  did  as  he  was  ordered.  "  And  when  he 
had  taken  him,  and  brought  him  to  his  mother, 
he  sat  on  her  knees  till  noon  and  then  died." 
"  He  sat  on  her  knees  till  noon."  Patiently,  pa- 
tiently did  she  hold  him,  watching  his  counte- 
nance as  it  grew  paler  and  colder,  and  his  eyes  as 
they  waxed  more  dull,  till  at  last  all  hope  was 
extinguished,  and  the  child  ceased  to  breathe. 

And  now  that  late,  sweet  flower  is  withered. 
The  shadows  fall  deeper  and  darker  than  before 
on  the  Shunammite's  house,  since  the  spirit  that 
was  its  light  has  been  taken  away.  Where  is 


IT   IS    WELL. 

now  the  father's  solace  at  his  toil  ?  Who  is  there 
to  go  out  to  him  while  he  is  with  his  reapers? 
And  who  shall  sit  at  home  with  the  mother,  be- 
guiling her  hours  and  improving  his  own,  or 
kneel  by  her  side  while  she  implores  the-  blessing 
of  Israel's  God  1  How  lonely  is  their  home ! 
How  aimless  their  life  ! 

But  the  mother  spends  not  her  time  in  these  re- 
pinings.  She  remembers  the  prophet  Elisha. 
And  she  went  up  into  the  chamber  which  her 
hospitality  had  provided  for  him  in  her  own 
house,  and  laid  her  dead  son  upon  his  bed,  "  and 
shut  the  door  upon  him  and  went  out;"  and 
equipping  herself  for  the  journey,  hastened  to  the 
man  of  God  to  Mount  Carmel,  where  he  was  at 
that  time  abiding.  What  the  motives  were  which 
prompted  her  to  this  step,  we  are  not  assisted  by 
the  history  precisely  to  tell.  Perhaps  she  went 
only  for  counsel,  encouragement  and  sympathy. 
Perhaps,  as  her  child  had  been  in  so  remarkable 
a  manner  given  to  her,  she  went  to  ask  why  he 
had  been  taken  away  again  so  suddenly  and  so 
early,  and  whether  any  sin  on  her  part  had  called 
down  upon  her  the  displeasure  and  chastisement 
of  the  Almighty.  Or,  it  may  be,  that  she  cherished 
a  hope,  tremblingly  and  faintly,  but  fondly,  which 


308  IT   IS    WELL. 

she  would  utter  to  no  one,  not  even  to  her  hus- 
band, that  God  would  hear  the  prayer  of  his 
prophet,  and  restore  to  her  the  treasure  which  at 
the  same  intercession  he  had  bestowed.  But 
whatever  were  her  hopes  or  intentions,  her  an- 
swer to  Gehazi  is  proof  that  her  mind  was  firm, 
collected  and  resigned.  "Is  it  well  with  thee?" 
said  the  messenger,  in  the  name  of  his  master ; 
"is  it  well  with  thy  husband?  is  it  well  with  the 
child?  And  she  answered,  It  is  well."  Her 
whole  errand  was  not  to  be  entrusted  to  the  ser- 
vant, but  reserved  for  the  hearing  of  the  prophet 
himself.  It  was  enough  for  her,  at  the  time,  to 
express  her  conviction  that  no  real  evil  had  be- 
fallen herself  or  her  family.  Gehazi  no  doubt  un- 
derstood her  as  meaning  that  she  and  hers  were  in 
health  and  prosperity.  But  there  were  far  deeper 
meanings  in  her  soul,  when  she  answered,  "It 
is  well."  She  knew  that  in  the  common  and 
superficial  sense  of  that  phrase,  it  was  little  appli- 
cable to  her  situation.  She  knew  that  her  son 
was  dead,  and  that  her  house  was  in  mourning. 
But  she  felt  that  in  a  holier  and  more  thoughtful 
sense,  the  phrase  was  strictly  suitable  and  true. 
"And  she  answered,  It  is  well." 
This  is  and  always  must  be  the  answer  of  real 


IT   IS    WELL.  309 

piety  in  every  providential  affliction.  It  will  be 
profitable  to  consider  its  import  in  connection 
with  the  circumstances  of  the  above  history,  and 
analyze  the  thoughts  which  very  probably  were 
in  the  mind  of  the  bereaved  mother  as  she  gave  it 
utterance.  Those  thoughts  may  have  taken  a 
form  somewhat  like  the  following,  while  Gehazi, 
the  servant  of  Elisha,  stood  before  her. 

"  You  ask  me  if  it  is  well  with  me,  with  my 
husband,  and  with  my  child?  Certainly  it  is 
well  with  us  all.  My  child  is  dead.  His  beauti- 
ful features  are  fixed.  When  I  kissed  his  pure 
cheek,  it  chilled  me.  These  hands  have  closed 
his  eyes.  They  no  longer  open  on  the  light  of 
day,  nor  rejoice  in  the  lovely  things  of  earth,  nor 
look  up  to  the  blessed  stars,  nor  do  they  reply 
any  longer  to  mine.  His  sports  and  his  walks 
are  over.  The  dark  tomb  in  the  rock  is  ready 
for  him,  and  there  will  his  body  be  resolved  into 
dust.  And  yet  it  is  well  with  him.  His  spirit 
has  returned  to  God  who  gave  it,  and  even  now 
communes  with  its  Creator.  He  is  safe;  safer 
with  his  Father  in  heaven,  than  with  me  on 
earth.  How  do  I  know  that  he  may  not  have 
been  taken  away  from  some  evil,  some  bitter  evil 
to  come,  worse  than  the  smiting  of  the  sun  by 


310  IT   IS   WELL. 

day  or  the  moon  by  night ;  and  that  I,  the  mo- 
ther who  bore  him,  may  not  have  had  cause  of 
more  anguish  in  his  life,  than  I  have  now  in  his 
death?  He  is  gone  where  there  are  no  snares 
for  innocence,  no  temptations  to  excess  and  diso- 
bedience, and  where  no  foes  can  come.  He  must 
be  safe,  for  he  is  in  the  dwelling-place  of  God. 
And  he  must  be  happy ;  happier  than  with  me. 
It  is  true  that  his  gentle  heart  had  seldom 
throbbed,  under  my  roof,  with  pain  or  fear,  but 
had  laid  itself  open  to  the  influences  of  joy  and 
peace,  as  a  young  heart  should.  Yet  sorrows, 
which  come  to  all  hearts,  must  have  come  at  last 
to  his ;  and  how  do  I  know,  blind  as  I  am,  how 
his  might  have  been  wrung?  But  where  he  is 
now,  sorrows  are  not  and  can  never  be.  God 
loved  him,  and  therefore  he  took  him  wholly  to 
himself,  and  to  the  pleasures  and  the  glories 
which  are  forever  springing  up  in  the  pathway 
of  those  whom  he  has  led  into  his  heavenly  para- 
dise. How  can  I  dare  to  bring  into  comparison 
the  joys  which  I  here  see  to  be  so  fading,  with 
those  which  there  must  be  perennial ;  or  lament 
that  he,  my  darling  and  only  son,  should  be  re- 
moved from  these  to  those?  What  they  are,  or 
where  is  the  place  of  their  growth,  I  cannot  tell. 


IT   IS   WELL.  311 

Nor  have  our  prophets  told  us  much  concerning 
them;  for  they  can  declare  neither  less  nor  more 
than  is  given  them  to  speak.  But  my  own  soul 
tells  me  that  the  soul  of  my  son  lives ;  lives 
with  the  souls  of  all  saints,  and  with  God  the 
Maker  of  them  all,  in  the  light  of  whose  counte- 
nance he  cannot  be  otherwise  than  happy,  be- 
yond my  power  to  imagine.  Yea,  it  is  well  with 
him. 

"  And  it  is  well  with  me.  It  is  well  with  us, 
his  parents,  who  expected,  in  the  course  of  na- 
ture, to  go  before  him,  and  not  to  have  been  left 
behind.  We^are  stricken  in  years,  but  we  have 
yet  much  to  learn.  It  is  good  for  us  that  we 
have  been  afflicted.  It  is  well  that  we  have 
been  taught  that  the  will  of  the  Almighty  is  su- 
perior to  the  course  of  nature,  and  to  be  preferred 
to  our  own  calculations  and  wishes.  We  are 
made  to  feel  that  we  are  strangers  with  him,  and 
sojourners,  as  all  our  fathers  were,  and  that  the 
term  of  our  pilgrimage  and  sojourn,  and  the  time 
of  our  departure  hence  are  determined,  and  best 
determined,  by  his  pleasure  and  not  by  ours.  I 
am  afraid  that  we  had  forgotten  that  our  times 
were  in  his  hand ;  and  that  our  child  belonged  to 
him  more  properly  than  to  us,  and  that  the  gift 


312  IT    IS    WELL. 

was  not  to  divert  our  affections  from  the  Giver, 
nor  prevent  us  from  considering  that  time  and  age 
were  hurrying  us  away  from  all  earthly  delights 
into  the  immediate  presence  of  the  only  Good. 
It  is  well  that  we  have  been  reminded,  though 
with  seeming  severity,  of  these  great  truths. 
For  my  own  part,  I  am  conscious  that  the  nearer 
I  was  approaching  to  the  end  of  my  journey,  the 
less  I  thought  of  its  end,  and  the  more  unwilling 
I  was  to  be  brought  to  it.  My  son,  though  inno- 
cently, had  stolen  my  heart  from  my  God,  who  did 
not  intend  that  I  should  take  his  precious  gift, 
and  turn  it  into  an  idol,  and  worship  it.  I  see 
this  now,  for  my  eyes  have  been  opened.  I  feel 
it,  for  my  heart  has  been  dealt  with.  And  it  is 
well.  It  is  well  that  I  can  see,  and  feel,  and  hear, 
and  be  instructed.  It  is  well  that  my  heavenly 
Father  condescends  to  instruct  me,  even  by 
chastening,  and  to  cure  me,  even  through  suffer- 
ing ;  for  I  feel,  that  while  his  hand  is  heavy  and 
sore  upon  me,  it  is,  like  that  of  a  wise  physician, 
healing  me  too.  He  has  been  twice  gracious  to 
me ;  when  he  gave,  and  now  that  he  has  taken 
away ;  let  me  say  with  our  patriarch,  Blessed  be 
his  name  for  both.  It  is  well  that  I  can  say, 
Blessed  be  his  name.  It  is  well  that  I  can  render 


IT   IS   WELL.  313 

something  to  the  Lord  for  all  his  benefits,  and 
show  him  that  I  am  not  utterly  regardless  of 
them.  It  is  well,  I  say,  that  I  can  render  some- 
thing to  him,  if  it  is  only  my  submission,  my 
wants,  and  my  tears. 

"It  is  well.  If  the  Lord  had  not  needed  my 
child,  he  would  not  have  sent  for  him.  He  was 
spotless,  he  was  fit  for  the  Lord's  purposes,  and 
therefore  he  has  taken  him  to  be  his  messenger. 
I  am  sure  that  he  came  as  an  angel  to  me ;  and 
if  now  he  is  wanted  for  some  higher  service,  who 
am  I,  that  I  should  deny  him  to  his  Creator? 

"It  is  well,  in  one  word,  because  what  has 
been  done  has  been  done  by  the  Lord  my  God, 
and  whatever  he  does  must  be  right  and  good. 
There  is  evil  enough  in  the  world  from  the  abuse 
of  his  goodness ;  evil  enough  is  done  by  his  diso- 
bedient creatures ;  but  all  that  he  does  is  and 
must  be  right  and  good.  Our  wild  passions  and 
rebellions,  our  murmurings  and  complainings,  our 
vain  regrets  for  things  as  vain,  our  prejudices,  ex- 
cesses, vices,  omissions  and  transgressions,  these 
are  wrong  and  evil ;  but  the  plain  doings  of  God, 
and  events  and  appointments  of  his  providence, 
these  must  all  be  right  and  good,  whether  they 
be  afflictive  or  joyful.  My  affliction  certainly  has 


314  IT    IS    WELL. 

come  from  him,  and  therefore  it  is   right  and 
good.     Yea,  it  is  well." 

It  was  the  will  of  God,  as  we  learn  from  the 
history,  that  this  woman  should  have  her  son  re- 
stored to  her,  through  the  prophet's  intercession. 
But  it  was  before  this  event,  that  she  uttered 
those  few  but  expressive  words  of  resignation. 
In  similar  sorrows  of  our  own,  we  may  not  look 
for  a  miracle,  which  was  peculiar  to  her  case, 
but  should  rather  imitate  her  resignation  and 
adopt  her  words,  which  are  always  applicable  to 
all  cases,  and  may  be  received  like  balm  into  all 
wounded  hearts.  The  miraculous  restoration  of 
life  in  an  individual  instance  may  confirm  our 
religious  faith,  and  help  our  submission,  inas- 
much as  it  shows  that  life  and  death  are  equally 
in  the  hands  of  God,  and  under  his  supreme  di- 
rection. A  miracle,  however,  cannot  be  an  ex- 
ample, because  in  its  nature  it  is  a  rare  departure 
from  a  common  and  established  course.  But  the 
spirit  and  words  of  resignation,  of  piety,  of  faith, 
are  ever  an  example  to  all.  With  the  Shunam- 
mite  mother,  all  bereaved  parents  may  answer, 
"It  is  well."  And  with  far  better  reason  than 
she  had,  may  all  Christian  parents  adopt  her 
words.  Her  child  was  brought  back  to  a  brief 


IT   IS   WELL.  315 

and  uncertain  life,  again  to  suffer,  and  again  to 
die.  Our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ  raised 
all  our  children  to  life  eternal,  in  the  hour  when 
he  took  little  children  into  his  arms,  and  pro- 
claimed that  of  such  was  the  kingdom  of  heaven ; 
and  when  he  rose  himself  from  the  grave,  he  gave 
all  believing  parents  the  assurance  that  they 
should  rise  to  meet  their  children  again,  and  to 
part  no  more  for  ever. 

AUGUST  .  3,  1831. 


SERMON    XXV. 


OFFICES    OF    MEMORY. 

I   BEMEMBEH  THE   DAYS   OF  OLD  ;    I   MEDITATE   ON   ALL   THY  WORKS. 

Psalm  cxliii.  5. 

How  bountifully  gifted  is  man.  He  lives,  not 
only  in  the  present,  but  in  the  past  and  the 
future.  The  days  of  his  childhood  belong  to  him, 
even  when  his  hair  is  white  and  his  eyes  are 
clouded ;  and  heaven  itself  may  open  on  his  vi- 
sion, while  he  is  wandering  among  the  shadows  of 
earth,  and  dwelling  in  a  tabernacle  of  clay.  He 
may  look  back  to  the  rosy  dawn  and  faint  glim- 
merings of  his  intellectual  day ;  and  forward,  till 
his  unchecked  sight  discerns  the  dwelling-place 
of  God,  and  grows  familiar  with  eternity. 

The  greater  part  of  our  mental  pleasures  is 
drawn  from  the  sources  of  memory  and  hope ;  for 
while  hope  is  constantly  adorning  the  future  with 
her  fresh  colors  and  bright  images,  memory  is  as 
active  in  bringing  back  to  us  the  joys  of  the  past ; 


OFFICES   OF    MEMORY.  317 

and  though  it  is  also  her  duty  to  introduce  its 
pains,  it  is  with  the  veil  of  time  becomingly 
thrown  over  them,  to  soften  the  severity  of  their 
features,  and  render  their  presence  not  only  en- 
durable, but  often  soothing  and  welcome. 

But  I  would  not  speak  of  the  pleasures  alone, 
which  these  kind  handmaids  of  our  life  are  com- 
missioned to  procure  for  us.  They  hold  instruc- 
tion in  their  keeping ;  and  if  we  will  intimately 
and  seriously  converse  with  them,  we  may  re- 
ceive from  their  lips  the  lessons  of  wisdom  and 
virtue.  They  are  to  be  consulted  on  the  real 
business,  as  well  as  the  meditative  delights  of  ex- 
istence; for  what  would  be  the  excitement  of 
labor,  without  the  encouragement  of  hope?  and 
where  could  experience  go  for  his  treasures,  if  the 
storehouse  of  memory  should  fail  ?  I  might  com- 
pare these  faculties  to  the  valuable  friends,  who 
are  always  found  ready  to  minister  to  our  amuse- 
ment, and  participate  in  our  gaiety,  and  equally 
ready  to  counsel  our  sober  hours,  and  assist  our 
emergencies  with  effectual  help. 

Let  us  give  our  attention,  at  this  time,  to  the 
instructive  voice  of  memory.  Let  us  lend  a  care- 
ful ear  to  the  moral  of  her  tales.  Let  us,  like 
the  Psalmist,  when  we  remember  the  days  of  old, 


318  OFFICES    OF   MEMORY. 

hallow  our  reminiscences,  by  meditating  on  the 
works  of  God  ;  by  tracing  the  hand  of  a  merciful 
Providence  through  the  varied  fortunes  of  our 
course.  We  all  have  joys,  we  all  have  sorrows, 
and  we  all  have  sins  to  remember. 

I.  The  memory  of  joy  reaches  far  back  in  the 
annals  of  every  one's  life.  Indeed  there  are  many 
who  persuade  themselves  that  they  never  experi- 
enced true  pleasure,  except  in  the  earliest  stages 
of  their  career ;  who  complain,  that  when  the 
hours  of  childhood  flew  away,  they  bore  off  the 
best  joys  of  life  upon  their  wings,  leaving  passion 
to  be  the  minister  of  youth,  and  care  to  be  the 
portion  of  manhood,  and  regret  and  pain  to  drag 
old  age  into  the  grave.  I  cannot  sympathize  in 
these  gloomy  views.  I  consider  them  as  in  a  high 
degree  unjust  to  the  happiness,  which  God  has 
spread  out  liberally  through  every  division  of  our 
days,  and  which  can  be  missed  or  forfeited  in 
hardly  any  other  manner  than  through  our  wilful 
sins.  But  I  do  not  the  less  share  the  visions  and 
participate  in  the  pleasure  of  those,  who  love  to 
retrace  the  green  paths  of  their  early  years,  and 
refresh  their  hearts  with  the  retrospect  of  guile- 
less innocence,  of  sunbright  hopes,  of  delights  that 
the  merest  trifle  could  purchase,  and  of  tears  that 


OFFICES   OF   MEMORY. 

any  kind  hand  could  wipe  away.  How  many 
scenes  exist  in  the  remembrance  of  each  one  of 
us,  soft,  and  dim,  and  sacred,  beyond  the  paint- 
er's art  to  copy,  but  hung  up,  as  in  an  ancient 
gallery,  for  the  visits  and  contemplation  of  our 
maturer  minds.  Mellowed  they  are,  and  graced, 
like  other  pictures,  by  the  slow  and  tasteful  hand 
of  time.  The  groves,  through  which  we  ran  as 
free  as  our  playmate  the  wind,  wave  with  a  more 
graceful  foliage,  and  throw  a  purer  shade ;  the 
ways  which  our  young  feet  trod,  have  lost  their 
ruggedness,  and  are  bordered  everywhere  with 
flowers ;  and  no  architecture  that  we  have  since 
seen,  though  we  may  have  wandered  through 
kings'  palaces,  can  equal  the  beauty  of  the  doors 
which  our  hands  first ,  learned  to  open,  and  of  the 
apartments  which  once  rang  with  the  echoes  of 
our  childish  glee. 

Then  there  was  joy  in  our  hearts  when  we 
first  began  to  take  a  part  in  the  serious  business 
of  life,  and  felt  that  we  were  qualifying  ourselves 
for  a  station,  perhaps  an  honorable  one,  among 
our  seniors.  We  were  joyful  when  we  won  the 
prize  of  exertion,  or  received  the  praise  and  the 
smiles  of  those,  whose  praise  and  smiles  were 
worth  to  us  more  than  any  other  reward.  Joy 


320  OFFICES   OF   MEMORY. 

was  our  companion,  when  we  first  went  out  a 
little  way  upon  the  broad  face  of  the  earth,  and 
saw  how  fair  and  grand  she  was,  covered  with 
noble  cities,  and  artful  monuments,  and  various 
productions,  and  the  busy  tribes  of  men.  Joy 
came  with  friendship,  and  affection,  and  confi- 
dence, and  the  pure  interchange  of  hearts  and 
thoughts.  And  more  than  this,  we  were  joyful 
when  we  were  virtuous  and  useful ;  when  we 
strove  against  a  besetting  temptation,  and  knew 
that  our  spirit  was  strong  to  subdue  it ;  when  we 
came  out  boldly,  and  denounced  injustice,  and 
defended  the  right ;  when  we  gave  up  a  selfish 
gratification,  and  received  a  blessing ;  when  we 
forbore  to  speak  ill  of  a  rival,  though  by  so  doing 
we  might  have  advanced  our  own  claims ;  when 
we  dismissed  envy  from  our  bosoms,  and  made  it 
give  place  to  a  generous  admiration;  when  we 
forgave  an  enemy,  and  prayed  from  our  hearts 
that  God  might  forgive  him  too;  when  we 
stretched  out  a  willing  hand,  to  heal,  to  help,  to 
guide,  to  protect,  to  save ;  in  short  whenever  we 
discharged  an  obligation,  and  performed  a  duty, 
and  earned  the  approbation  of  conscience. 

Let  me  not  omit,  in  the  enumeration  of  joys, 
the  memory  of  our  religious  experiences  and  im- 


OFFICES   OF    MEMORY.  321 

provements.  Let  me  not  be  so  dull  and  cold- 
hearted,  as  to  pass  by  the  hours  which  were  con- 
secrated to  a  close  and  filial  communion  with  our 
Father  in  Heaven ;  the  hours  when  we  felt  the 
burthen  of  mortality  taken  off,  and  our  souls  left 
light  and  free ;  when  we  breathed  a  better  atmos- 
phere, and  saw  with  a  clearer  vision,  because  the 
air  of  another  world  was  around  us,  and  the 
clouds  of  doubt  had  vanished  away.  There  have 
been  seasons  in  the  life  of  every  Christian,  when 
he  has  perceived  that  a  fresh  beam  of  divine  light 
has  come  in  upon  his  soul,  that  he  has  acquired 
a  new  apprehension  of  the  attributes  and  provi- 
dence of  God,  and  that  he  has  taken  another  step 
in  the  path  of  a  holy  pilgrimage.  Such  seasons 
are  sacred,  and  sacredly  let  them  be  kept,  in  the 
record  of  every  heart. 

I  have  mentioned  some  of  the  joys  to  which 
memory  may  point  us.  The  recollection  must 
not  be  barren  of  improvement.  It  will  show  us, 
in  the  first  place,  how  beneficent  our  Creator  has 
been  to  us,  in  furnishing  each  age  with  its  appro- 
priate pleasures,  and  filling  our  days  with  a  vari- 
ety, as  well  as  a  multitude  of  blessings.  It  will 
teach  us  to  keep  an  honest  account  of  our  enjoy- 
ments, and  to  avoid  the  fault  of  those,  who  mi- 
21 


322  OFFICES    OF    MEMORY. 

nutely  reckon  up  their  pains  and  misfortunes,  but 
ungratefully  pass  over  the  kind  allotments  of 
Providence.  He  who  is  faithful  to  the  mercies 
of  Heaven,  will  not  forget  that  he  has  tasted 
them,  even  though  they  may  have  been  long  re- 
sumed. He  has  once  had  them  for  his  own.  and 
that  is  enough  to  inspire  him  with  gratitude  for 
the  past,  and  with  trust  in  the  continuance  of  his 
Father's  love. 

There  is  another  moral  which  may  be  deduced 
from  the  remembrance  of  our  joys.  It  is  evident 
that  they  are  not  all  of  equal  value,  and  that  we 
must  dwell  on  some  of  them  with  more  compla- 
cency and  satisfaction  than  on  others.  Now  we 
shall  find,  if  our  moral  taste  is  not  entirely  per- 
verted, that  the  joys  which  afford  the  greatest 
delight  to  our  memory,  are  those  which  flowed  in 
childhood  from  its  innocence,  and  in  after  life 
from  our  good  deeds.  The  lesson  is  obvious.  If 
we  take  pleasure  in  recurring  to  the  innocence  of 
our  first  years,  let  it  be  our  watchful  care  to  re- 
tain and  preserve  it ;  for  it  is  not  necessarily  de- 
stroyed by  knowledge,  nor  does  it  invariably  de- 
part at  the  approach  of  maturity.  It  is  in  contin- 
ual danger,  and  it  must  be  guarded  with  constan- 
cy. It  is  like  a  fountain,  which  springs  up  in  a 


OFFICES   OF    MEMORY.  323 

frequented  place,  and  is  immediately  exposed  to 
rude  contamination  and  surrounding  impurities  ; 
but  we  may  build  a  temple  over  it,  and  keep  it 
fresh  and  clear.  A  similar  improvement  may  be 
made  of  the  memory  of  our  good  deeds.  We 
should  use  all  diligence  in  adding  to  their  store ; 
for  if  they  are  now  the  most  precious  treasures 
of  the  soul,  they  certainly  will  not  diminish  in 
price,  when  the  common  enjoyments  of  life  are 
losing  their  relish,  and  its  bustle  no  longer  en- 
gages us,  and  the  tide  of  our  energies  is  fast  eb- 
bing away,  and  we  only  wait  for  the  summons 
of  departure.  What  solace  is  there  to  an  aged 
man,  like  the  memory  of  his  virtuous  actions ! 
What  medicine  is  there  so  healing  to  his  wasted, 
solitary  heart !  What  ground  of  hope  is  there  so 
sure  to  his  spirit,  next  to  the  mercy  of  his  God, 
and  the  intercession  of  Christ  his  Saviour !  And 
what  wealth  would  not  many  a  sinner  give,  to 
purchase  that,  which  the  wealth  of  both  the 
Indies  is  too  poor  to  buy ! 

II.  But  it  is  time  that  I  should  change  my  sub- 
ject, and  come  to  a  sadder  theme.  We  cannot 
pass  through  the  world  without  the  experience  of 
sorrow,  and  of  this,  as  well  of  joy,  memory  be- 
comes the  monitor.  Here  also  she  has  a  tale  to 


324  OFFICES    OF    MEMORY. 

tell  of  the  days  of  old ;  for  even  innocent  child- 
hood is  not  exempt  from  grief,  and  many  a  cloud 
will  rise,  to  interrupt  the  brightness  of  its  morn- 
ing. So  is  it  with  every  succeeding  period  of 
our  brief  day.  We  were  born  to  sorrow,  and  our 
lot  must  be  fulfilled. 

And  let  us  not  complain,  that  the  shadows  of 
sorrow  return  to  haunt  us,  after  the  term  of  its 
actual  existence  is  over.  Why  should  they  not 
be  permitted  the  same  license  as  the  phantoms  of 
delight?  The  laws  of  memory  are  impartial,  and 
do  us  no  more  injustice  than  the  laws  by  which 
the  realities  of  our  condition  are  dispensed  to  us. 
If  our  sufferings  as  well  as  our  enjoyments  are 
rightly  ordered,  why  not  the  remembrances  of 
both? 

Whether  we  are  led  back  more  frequently  to  the 
bright  or  the  gloomy  passages  of  life,  depends 
very  much  on  the  structure  and  tone  of  our  minds, 
and  the  character  of  our  present  circumstances. 
It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that  in  either  case 
the  transition  is  easy  from  what  we  are  to  what 
we  were ;  that  it  is  often  made  without  any  exer- 
tion or  even  volition  of  our  own ;  and  that  things 
of  the  lightest  consequence  have  the  irresistible 
power  of  effecting  it.  A  face  which  meets  us  for 


OFFICES    OF   MEMORY.  325 

a  moment  in  the  street,  an  old  tree,  a  piece  of 
household  furniture,  a  snatch  of  music,  the -sigh- 
ing of  the  wind,  may  bring  along  with  them  a 
crowd  of  imaginations  and  scenes,  which  had  not 
visited  our  mind  for  years,  and  seemed  to  have 
gone  for  ever. 

"  In  memory's  land  waves  never  a  leaf, 

There  never  a  summer  breeze  blows, 
But  some  long  smothered  thought  of  joy  or  grief, 

Starts  up  from  its  deep  repose ; 
And  forms  are  living  and  visible  there, 

Which  vanished  long  since  from  our  earthly  sphere." 

We  all  of  us  know  best  what  our  own  calamities 
have  been,  and  know  best  how  often  and  how 
poignantly  their  memory  afflicts  us.  Some  bitter 
disappointment,  perhaps,  came  along  in  the 
spring-time  of  our  life,  breathing  on  our  young 
and  flourishing  hopes,  like  the  cold  east  wind,  and 
converted  them  into  a  heap  of  withered  leaves, 
and  covered  our  heart  with  a  mildew,  which, 
though  time  and  the  sun  have  acted  upon  it,  is 
still  felt  there,  in  the  returning  fits  of  memory,  in 
its  melancholy  dampness.  Or  perhaps  we  were 
doomed  to  undergo  the  torturing  attack  of  severe 
disease,  or  casual  pain ;  and  we  shudder  when 
we  recur  to  its  agonies.  It  may  be  that  we  lost 


326  OFFICES   OF   MEMORY. 

our  property ;  that  we  were  cruelly  neglected  by 
the  world,  or  unaccountably  forsaken  by  a  friend ; 
and  the  thoughts  of  these  things  trouble  us  in  the 
midst  of  our  calmest  repose.  But  there  is  a 
thought,  darker  than  any  of  these,  and  more 
common  too  with  all  of  us,  and  more  frequently 
crossing  the  minds  of  all  with  its  sweeping  sha- 
dow—  the  thought  of  those,  who,  "though  ten- 
derly loved,  were  never  valued  as  they  ought  to 
have  been,  till  they  were  removed  from  our  sight 
—  the  thought  of  that  oppressive  hour,  when  the 
hand  which  had  been  so  often  warmly  grasped 
in  ours,  grew  colder  and  colder  as  we  held  it,  and 
that  expressive  countenance  became  fixed  like 
marble,  which  even  then  was  answering  ours 
with  a  placid  smile  —  the  thought  of  those  who 
are  gone  from  among  us  —  the  memory  of  the 
dead.  I  will  not  dwell  more  minutely  on  this  re- 
membrance. It  would  be  cruel  to  do  so.  Per- 
haps I  have  already  said  too  much  on  a  subject, 
which  needs  no  description  to  bring  it  home  most 
painfully  to  our  bosoms.  Perhaps  I  have  struck 
too  harshly  on  a  chord,  which  a  touch  or  a  breath 
will  cause  to  vibrate  with  intensity.  Oh,  how 
many  simple  words  there  are,  and  unnoticed 
things,  which  raise  up  sweet  faces  of  past  times 


OFFICES  OF  MEMORY.  327 

before  the  eye  of  our  spirit,  and  make  our  heart 
swell  and  throb,  even  in  the  press  of  the  indiffer- 
ent crowd,  and  the  world  does  not  know  it,  be- 
cause outwardly  we  are  calm,  and  we  mix  with 
its  people,  and  pursue  our  business  as  they  do  ! 

The  memory  of  our  sorrows  is  fitted  to  exert  a 
favorable  influence  on  the  character,  by  softening 
it  and  moulding  it  to  the  form  of  gentleness,  and 
preparing  it  for  the  impressions  of  religion  and 
piety.  The  memory  of  disappointment  may  give 
us  a  friendly  warning  in  the  season  of  extrava- 
gant expectation,  and  teach  us  to  shelter  our 
hopes  more  cautiously  than  we  did  before,  lest 
they  should  meet  with  a  similar  blighting.  The 
memory  of  sickness  may  arrest  us  in  a  course  of 
heedless  indulgence,  and  repeat  over  to  us  the 
history  of  our  pains,  and  induce  us  to  fall  back 
into  the  safer  path  of  moderation;  or  it  may 
speak  to  us  while  we  are  in  the  innocent  enjoy- 
ment of  health  and  ease,  and  without  rudely 
alarming  us,  may  kindly  tell  us  how  frail  we  are, 
and  how  dependent  on  the  will  of  the  Almighty. 
The  memory  of  our  lost  friends  has  many  solemn 
and  affecting  lessons  to  enjoin  upon  us.  It  may 
whisper  to  us  a  kinder  treatment  of  those  who 
are  still  left  to  us,  and  entreat  us  to  avoid  even  a 


328  OFFICES    OF   MEMORY. 

word  or  look  which  might  inflict  undeserved  pain 
on  those  who  are  likewise  mortal  and  of  uncer- 
tain continuance.  It  will  also  bid  us  prepare  to 
take  our  place  with  them  in  the  grave,  and  so  to 
cherish  and  imitate  all  that  was  good  in  them,  as 
to  be  found  worthy  of  joining  them  beyond  the 
grave,  in  the  mansions  of  eternal  happiness. 

III.  It  remains  for  me  to  speak  of  the  memory 
of  sins ;  which  ought  to  be  the  saddest,  and 
which  may  also  be  the  most  useful  memory  of 
all.  It  is  a  memory  which  addresses  itself  to 
every  conscience,  and  to  which  none  but  a  care- 
less or  a  hardened  conscience  will  refuse  to  listen 
with  serious  attention.  Who  will  say  that  they 
have  never  committed  sin,  and  therefore  cannot 
be  annoyed  by  its  remembrance?  If  there  be 
any  such,  they  must  be  answered  in  the  words 
of  St.  John,  "  If  we  say  that  we  have  no  sin,  we 
deceive  ourselves,  and  the  truth  is  not  in  us." 
It  cannot  be  true  that  we  have  no  sin.  The  most 
obstinate  self-deception  alone  could  induce  us  to 
maintain  an  assertion  so  easily  refuted,  and  so 
contrary  to  all  experience.  What !  Have  we 
never  wasted  our  time ;  never  abused  our  facul- 
ties and  privileges ;  never  disobeyed,  with  full 
knowledge  of  the  wrong,  a  commandment  of 


OFFICES    OF   MEMORY.  329 

God?  Have  we  never  raised  expectations,  and 
then  idly  or  intentionally  neglected  to  satisfy 
them,  thereby  causing  disappointment  and  pain? 
Have  we  never  failed  to  state  the  clear  and  open 
truth,  through  fear,  or  pride,  or  some  other  mo- 
tive worse  even  than  those  ?  Have  we  never  de- 
tained what  was  not  rightfully  our  own;  never 
taken  an  unfair  advantage  of  our  neighbor ;  never 
perverted  the  power  of  authority  or  love  which 
has  been  placed  in  our  hands,  so  that  instead  of  a 
refuge,  it  became  a  torment?  Have  we  been 
guilty  of  no  secret  faults  or  crimes  ?  —  But  I  will 
ask  no  more  questions  of  this  nature.  Surely  we 
have  sinned  and  done  wickedly.  Let  us  not  ag- 
gravate our  offences  by  denying  that  we  have 
offended ;  but  when  memory  repeats  to  our  hearts 
the  history  of  our  misdeeds,  let  us  receive  the  re- 
buke patiently,  nay,  even  reverently,  that  we 
may  be  profited,  perhaps  saved. 

If  we  have  not  repented  of  sin,  it  is  the  office 
of  memory  to  lead  us  the  first  steps  to  repentance, 
by  which  we  secure  forgiveness  and  eternal  life. 
It  is  her  part  to  remove,  with  friendly  solicitude, 
the  veils  with  which  we  may  try  to  cover  our 
past  misdoings.  It  is  her  part  to  dwell  with  anx- 
ious emphasis  on  those  blots  of  former  days,  from 


330  OFFICES    OF   MEMORY. 

which  we  would  gladly  turn  away  our  reflec- 
tions. Oh  that  she  may  he  suffered  to  persevere, 
with  ever- recurring  efforts,  till  we  are  subdued 
by  contrition  and  penitence,  and  sink  down  in 
humility  and  self-abasement  before  a  merciful 
and  pardoning  God ! 

But  have  we  repented  of  sin,  and  felt  that  we 
have  been  forgiven?  Even  then  let  memory 
come  and  tell  again  the  history  of  error  and  dis- 
obedience. The  recital  will  remind  us  of  our 
frailty,  convince  us  of  our  sinfulness ;  and  we 
shall  thus  be  put  upon  our  guard  against  future 
acts  of  folly  and  rebellion.  A  shield  will  be 
given  us  against  impending  danger ;  a  motive  to 
increased  precaution  and  vigilance.  Beacon  lights 
will  gleam  out  from  the  past,  to  guide  our  pre- 
sent course,  and  warn  us  of  the  old  and  sunken 
perils.  In  times  of  excitement,  of  delusion,  of 
trial,  when  the  enemies  of  our  virtue  and  con- 
stancy are  out  upon  us  with  their  forces,  and  we 
waver  in  the  conflict,  happy  will  it  be  for  us 
then,  if  the  memory  of  former  guilt  rise  up  and 
interpose  itself  between  us  and  them,  point  to  the 
melancholy  consequences  of  defeat,  and  stimulate 
us  to  the  victory.  Good  reason  we  shall  have  to 
render  thanks  to  God,  and  ascribe  to  him  the 


OFFICES    OF   MEMORY.  331 

power  and  the  praise,  crying,  "  Not  unto  us,  O 
Lord,  not  unto  us,  but  to  thy  name  give  the 
glory. 

Cherish  the  memory  of  your  innocent  and  law- 
ful joys,  that  you  may  be  grateful,  just  and  con- 
tented ;  of  your  sorrows,  that  you  may  be  kind 
to  your  friends,  and  careful  of  yourselves;  of 
your  sins,  that  you  may  be  penitent,  and  humble, 
and  watchful.  And  God  grant,  that  memory 
may  be  the  friend  of  your  last  days,  and  the 
soother  of  your  dying  bed ! 

JANUARY  1,  1816. 


SERMON    XXVI. 


PEACEFUL    SLEEP. 

I   WILL  BOTH   LAY    ME    DOWN    IN     PEACE,  AND    SLEEP  ;    FOB    THOU, 
LORD,   ONLY  MAKEST   ME   DWELL   IN   SAFETY.  —  Psalm  iv.    8. 

WHEN  the  work  of  the  day  is  done,  and  its  re- 
cord is  written;  when  the  sun  has  set  upon 
whatever  we  have  performed  or  neglected,  suf- 
fered or  enjoyed  since  his  rising ;  when  the  deep 
shades  of  night  have  closed  around  us,  and  our 
wearied  head  demands  its  pillow,  our  natural  as- 
pirations are  for  peaceful  sleep.  Though  our 
temples  are  not  pressed  by  the  weight  of  a  diadem, 
yet,  with  the  royal  psalmist,  our  prayer  will  be 
for  repose  and  protection ;  for  a  heaviness  will  be 
on  our  brows,  of  which  we  would  fain  be  disbur- 
thened,  and  our  conscious  weakness  will  call  for 
a  Guardian,  to  whom  it  can  resign  itself  securely. 
If  we  are  human,  we  shall  desire  rest ;  and  if  we 
are  considerate,  we  shall  pray  for  it,  We  shall 


PEACEFUL    SLEEP.  333 

desire  rest;  rest  of  body  and  rest  of  mind.  We 
shall  long  for  sleep,  and  not  for  sleep  only,  but 
for  peace. 

How  can  my  sleep  be  sweet,  unless  I  lay  me 
down  in  peace.  Unless  the  spirit  be  composed, 
how  can  slumber  come  to  my  senses  so  softly, 
and  refresh  my  bodily  powers  so  completely  as  it 
should?  Unless  peace  smooth  my  pillow,  how 
can  it  be  easy  to  my  head  ?  I  must  lay  me  down 
in  peace. 

I  must  be  at  peace,  when  I  lay  me  down,  at 
peace  with  myself.  My  conscience,  my  free,  un- 
bribed,  honest,  conscience  must  tell  me  that  the 
day  which  is  past,  is  yet  not  lost ;  that  I  have 
done  some  things  in  its  course  which  will  give 
me  no  pain  to  remember,  and  which  my  angei 
will  not  be  ashamed  to  record  ;  that  I  have  learn- 
ed somewhat  which  will  tend  to  my  improve- 
ment, or  unlearned  somewhat  which  has  been 
tending  to  my  injury.  It  must  tell  that  if  I  have 
labored,  it  has  not  been  in  the  service  of  vanity, 
whose  wages  are  nought,  or  in  the  service  of  sin, 
whose  wages  are  death  ;  that  if  I  have  abstained 
from  labor,  it  has  not  been  to  indulge  a  slothful 
habit,  but  to  supply  fresh  vigor  to  thought,  or  in- 
creased capacity  for  action.  My  conscience 


334  PEACEFUL    SLEEP. 

must  tell  me  that  if  I  have  been  tempted,  I  have 
resisted  temptation;  that  if  I  have  been  afflict- 
ed, I  have  not  idly  and  ungratefully  murmur- 
ed and  rebelled,  but  have  bowed,  and  submitted 
and  acknowledged  the  chastisement  to  be  wise, 
and  kind,  and  paternal.  My  conscience  must 
faithfully  tell  me  wherein  I  have  offended  against 
the  laws  of  virtue,  and  against  my  own  soul; 
and  when  the  accusation  is  brought,  my  heart 
must  humbly  acknowledge  it,  and  prevent  the 
flight  of  peace  by  sincere  repentance.  The  spi- 
rit of  God  must  bear  witness  with  my  spirit 
that  my  attachment  to  the  things  of  the  spirit  is 
gaining  confirmation;  that  my  grasp  on  the 
things  of  earth  is  losing  its  earnestness  and  tena- 
city ;  that  as  the  past  day  has  brought  me  nearer 
to  the  gate  of  death,  it  has  given  me  a  clearer 
and  happier  prospect  of  the  region  which  lies  be- 
yond it.  My  passions  must  be  still ;  the  sounds 
of  warfare  or  riot  must  not  be  heard  in  my  bo- 
som ;  the  stings  of  remorse  must  not  torment  me ; 
the  suggestions  of  evil  desires  must  not  beset  me ; 
—  but  reason  must  bear  sway,  and  virtuous 
thoughts  must  occupy  me,  and  gentle  affections 
must  move  me ;  for  I  must  lay  me  down  in  peace 
with  myself. 


PEACEFUL    SLEEP.  335 

I  must  also  be  at  peace  with  others,  when  I  lay 
me  down.  With  those  who  lie  down  under  the 
same  roof  with  me,  let  me  feel  that  I  am  at  peace. 
Let  not  the  ranklings  of  domestic  discord  corrode 
my  heart,  and  postpone  the  hour  of  my  repose. 
Let  me  not  be  sensible  that  I  have  wronged,  or 
grieved,  or  intentionally  offended,  by  act,  by 
word,  or  by  look,  by  heat  or  by  coldness,  any  one 
of  those  whose  happiness  should  especially  be  my 
happiness,  and  whose  feelings  should  be  clothed 
with  a  sacredness  in  my  sight,  such  as  the  an- 
cients attributed  to  their  household  deities.  As 
I  touch,  in  succession,  each  cord  which  connects 
me  with  those  who  are  nearest,  let  me  feel  that  it 
is  sound  and  unworn,  and  in  no  danger  of  break- 
ing. And  with  all  those  whom  I  am  accustomed 
to  meet  in  daily  business  and  intercourse,  let  me 
be  assured  that  I  am  at  peace,  when  I  lay  me 
down  at  night.  I  must  look  into  the  recesses  of 
my  breast  as  searchingly  as  I  can,  and  if  there 
be  any  envy,  malice,  jealousy,  hatred,  lurking 
among  them,  I  must  forthwith  discharge  my 
breast  of  such  unpeaceful  inmates  and  intruders. 
I  must  be  conscious  that  love  has  presided  over 
my  walk,  and  over  my  communication  with  my 
fellow  men ;  that  my  dealings  have  been  liberal, 


336  PEACEFUL    SLEEP. 

my  actions  just,  my  deportment  kind.  If  I  have 
been  injured,  let  me  be  prompt  to  pardon  the  inju- 
ry ;  so  that  when  by-and-by  I  pray  that  my  tres- 
passes may  be  forgiven,  I  may  add  with  calm- 
ness, "as  I  forgive  those  who  trespass  against 
me."  If  my  wrath  has  been  burning,  even  for 
sufficient  cause,  let  me  know  that  it  is  now  burnt 
out ;  that  its  last,  lingering  embers  died  before  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  that  the  earliest 
dews  of  evening  fell  coolly  upon  its  ashes.  If  I 
have  enemies,  let  me  know  that  the  enmity  is  on 
their  part,  and  not  on  mine;  and  that  I  have 
studied  the  things  which  make  for  peace :  and 
that  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  I  live  peaceably  with  all 
men.  With  my  family,  with  my  friends,  with 
my  companions  and  neighbors,  with  the  whole 
world,  let  me  feel  that  I  am  at  peace,  so  that  I 
may  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep. 

And  thus  shall  I  be  prepared  for  the  blessed 
conviction  that  I  am  at  peace  with  God.  How 
can  I  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep,  unless  I 
am  at  peace  with  him  ?  Has  he  not  been  my 
preserver  through  the  day?  If  sleep  descend 
upon  my  eyelids,  does  it  not  come,  with  every 
other  good  gift,  from  him?  And  through  the 
following  moments  of  the  night,  as  they  tread  on 


PEACEFUL    SLEEP.  337 

each  other's  steps  so  silently  and  swiftly,  is  it  not 
he,  and  he  only,  who  keeps  and  defends  me  ? 
What  a  gracious  care  is  that,  which  while  I 
sleep,  is  vigilant  on  every  side  of  me,  and  while 
I  am  unconscious,  is  providing  me  with  fresh 
stores  of  mental  and  bodily  strength.  What  a 
mysterious  eye  is  that,  which  follows  my  soul 
through  the  deepest  glooms  of  oblivion,  while  my 
own  eyes  are  fast  closed,  and  my  own  senses 
have  forgotten  their  office,  and  makes  the  night 
to  be  light  about  me,  and  creates  security  and 
day  in  the  midst  of  peril  and  darkness.  I  know 
not  what  nor  where  I  am  in  the  hours  of  slum- 
ber, but  I  know  that  the  Lord  is  with  me,  and 
that  he  only  can  watch  and  uphold  my  soul. 
Above  all,  then,  I  must  be  at  peace  with  him, 
when  I  lay  me  down  to  take  my  rest  at  night.  I 
must  experience  the  perfect  peace  of  those  whose 
minds  are  stayed  on  him.  I  must  feel  that  the 
peace  which  I  enjoy  with  myself,  in  my  own  spi- 
rit, flows  from  conformity  with  his  spiritual  laws 
established  within  me.  I  must  feel  that  the  peace 
which  I  cultivate  with  my  fellow  men,  is  the  ful- 
filment of  his  will,  which  ordains  mutual  love 
and  benevolence  between  the  members  of  his 
great  human  family,  and  which  was  fully  mani- 
22 


338  PEACEFUL    SLEEP. 

fested  in  the  life  and  commandment  of  his  well- 
beloved  Son.  I  must  feel  that  all  the  peace 
which  I  can  receive,  or  communicate,  or  experi- 
ence, is  in  unison  with  the  peace  of  God ;  and 
that  the  peace  of  God  is  the  sanctification  of  all 
the  peace  of  earth ;  and  that  all  the  peace  of 
earth,  unless  it  be  thus  sanctified,  is  without  its 
highest  blessing  and  richest  crown.  I  must, 
therefore,  place  my  love  supremely  on  him ;  must 
direct  my  gratitude  chiefly  to  him  ;  must  establish 
my  trust  finally  and  most  firmly  on  him.  I  must 
look  back  on  my  day  as  spent  in  his  sight,  and 
as  he  would  have  it  spent ;  and  for  every  omis- 
sion, and  for  every  transgression,  I  must  humble 
my  soul  before  him,  and  seek  his  mercy  by  true 
penitence,  that  I  may  hear  his  forgiving  voice, 
and  be  at  peace  with  him.  At  peace  with  him,  I 
cannot  be  at  enmity  with  myself,  or  with  aught 
that  he  has  made  and  loves.  Lulled  by  the  full 
harmony  of  an  all-consenting  peace,  I  shall  close 
my  eyes,  and  give  up  my  soul  into  the  hands  of 
its  Keeper;  saying  with  the  psalmist,  "I  will 
both  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep ;  for  thou, 
Lord,  only  makest  me  dwell  in  safety." 

Day  passes  rapidly  after  day,  and  night  after 


PEACEFUL    SLEEP.  339 

night  yet  more  rapidly;  —  and  then  comes  the 
night  of  death,  and  the  sleep  of  the  grave.  When 
will  they  come  ?  Name  the  season  and  the  hour. 
—  No  man  can  name  them.  Earthly  days  and 
nights  are  measured  by  the  earth  and  the  sun. 
In  summer,  the  days  are  long  and  the  nights  are 
short,  and  in  winter  the  days  are  short  and  the 
nights  are  long.  We  can  name  throughout  the 
year,  from  experience  of  former  years,  and  rely- 
ing on  the  continuance  of  our  revolving  system, 
the  very  moment  when  the  sun  of  each  day  shall 
bid  that  day  farewell.  But  when  the  day  of 
each  one's  mortal  life  shall  end,  and  when  the 
shades  of  death's  dark  night  shall  close  in  upon 
it,  cannot  be  told  by  mortal  tongue.  We  may 
only  say  that  the  day  of  some  will  be  longer  than 
the  day  of  others ;  and  that  the  night  will  fall 
suddenly  on  some,  and  on  others  slowly ;  and 
that  some  will  be  terrified,  and  others  soothed  by 
the  gathering  darkness ;  and  that  some  will  lay 
them  down  to  the  last  sleep  in  peace,  and  others 
in  great  trouble,  in  anguish,  in  despair.  So  has 
it  been,  and  so  will  it  probably  be.  But  the 
longest  day  will  be  very  brief,  and  yet  quite  long 
enough  for  God's  purposes,  and  man's  probation  ; 


340  PEACEFUL   SLEEP. 

and  when  the  night  does  come,  it  will  almost 
always  come  —  for  so  has  God's  providence  or- 
dained it  —  to  eyes  that  are  drooping,  and  a  head 
that  is  weary. 

Death  is  called  a  sleep.  To  the  body  it  is  a 
longer,  deeper  sleep,  of  which  the  grave  is  the  bed. 
But  sleep  has  dreams,  and  "  in  that  sleep  of  death 
what  dreams  may  come  !  "  I  know  not,  indeed, 
why  the  parallel  between  sleep  and  death  may 
not  be  continued,  and  death  be  a  dreaming  sleep 
to  the  soul,  a  dim  and  half-conscious  state,  to  be 
followed  by  a  full  awakening.  No  one  may  assert 
positively  that  it  is  not.  But  if  death  has  its 
dreams,  will  they  not  partake  of  the  soul's  charac- 
ter ;  and  will  they  not  be  painful  or  pleasant,  as 
the  soul  went  to  its  sleep  in  warfare  or  in  peace  ? 
Whether  it  sleeps  or  is  awake,  however,  certain  it 
is  —  a  most  vital  and  solemn  certainty  —  that  it 
is  in  the  presence  of  Almighty  God,  the  Father  of 
spirits,  who  knows  it,  who  sustains  it  in  being, 
and  who  will  pronounce  its  doom.  If  there  be  a 
fear  in  the  heart  of  a  dying  man,  that  his  soul 
may  be  forgotten  and  left  by  its  Maker,  —  vain  is 
that  fear.  If  there  be  a  hope  in  his  heart,  a  des- 
perate hope,  that  his  soul  may  escape  its  Maker's 


PEACEFUL    SLEEP.  341 

scrutiny,  and  fall  away  into  unsuffering  nothing- 
ness, —  as  vain  is  that  desperate  hope.  It  cannot 
be  lost,  it  cannot  escape  from  him  who  made  it, 
and  surrounds,  and  follows  it,  the  Fountain  of  all 
being,  and  the  Soul  of  souls. 

That  night  will  come  —  that  sleep  will  come  — 
and  it  is  thou,  Lord,  only  makest  me  dwell  in 
safety.  Ignorant  I  am  when  my  day  will  close, 
but  well  I  know,  that  if  I  wish  my  sleep  to  be 
calm,  and  my  rising  to  be  joyous,  I  must  lay  me 
down  in  peace.  And  my  peace  must  be  made  up 
of  the  same  materials  which  formed  the  peace  of 
every  preceding  night  —  of  the  love  and  the  duty, 
the  piety  and  charity  of  every  preceding  day. 
The  memories  of  all  obedience,  and  the  effects  of 
all  penitence  must  unite  in  producing  the  solemn 
peace  of  my  last  evening.  I  must  be  at  peace 
with  myself,  at  peace  with  my  neighbor,  at  peace 
with  my  God.  There  must  be  no  war  in  my 
soul,  no  enmity  with  my  brethren,  and  my  entire 
hope  and  trust  must  be  placed  in  my  Saviour  and 
in  my  God.  Then,  when  the  sun  of  my  life  sets 
behind  the  dark  mountains,  and  that  night  has 
come  to  me  which  comes  to  all,  I  will  not  be  de- 
pressed by  its  deepening  shadows;  I  will  not 


342  PEACEFUL   SLEEP. 

dread  its  gathering  terrors;  I  will  not  shrink  from 
the  sight  of  my  narrow  bed ;  but  "  I  will  both  lay 
me  down  in  peace  and  sleep ;  for  thou  Lord,  only 
makest  me  dwell  in  safety." 

SEPTEMBER  18,  1836. 


SERMON    XXVII. 


CHRIST    WITH    US    AT    EVENING. 

ABIDE   WITH    US  ;     FOR    IT   IS   TOWARD    EVENING,   AND    THE    DAY    IS 

FAR  SPENT.  —  Luke  rxiv.  29. 

ON  the  first  day  of  the  week,  the  same  day  on 
which  Jesus  arose  from  the  dead,  two  of  his  dis- 
ciples were  journeying  to  Emmaus,  a  village 
about  seven  miles  from  Jerusalem.  As  they  were 
on  their  way,  talking  earnestly  and  in  wondering 
perplexity  of  the  mournful  events  of  the  past 
week,  and  the  exciting  reports  which  they  had 
heard  that  morning,  Jesus  himself  drew  near, 
and  walked  on  with  them.  They  did  not  re- 
cognize their  Master,  for  they  had  no  expecta- 
tion of  meeting  him  at  the  time,  and  moreover 
it  was  not  the  intention  of  Jesus  to  make  him- 
self immediately  known  to  them.  "Their  eyes 
were  holden,  that  they  should  not  know  him." 
He  inquired,  on  joining  them,  what  it  was 


344  CHRIST    WITH   US   AT    EVENING. 

which  formed  the  burthen  of  their  conversation, 
and  which  seemed  to  be  of  so  engrossing  and 
saddening  a  character.  The  disciples,  express- 
ing their  surprise  at  his  appearing  to  be  igno- 
rant of  the  late  transactions  at  Jerusalem,  pro- 
ceeded to  inform  him  of  the  apprehension  and 
crucifixion  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  "  a  prophet 
mighty  in  deed  and  word  before  God  and  all  the 
people/'  whom  they  themselves  had  followed  as 
the  promised  Messiah,  believing  "  that  it  had 
been  he  who  should  have  redeemed  Israel."  It 
was  now,  they  added,  "  the  third  day  since  these 
things  were  done,"  and  they  had  just  been  "  made 
astonished"  by  the  asseverations  of  several  of 
their  company,  who  declared  that  the  body  of 
their  Master  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  sepulchre 
where  he  had  been  laid,  and  that  they  had  been 
told  by  angels  "  that  he  was  alive." 

When  they  had  concluded  their  account,  in 
which  they  exposed  the  conflict  which  was  going 
on  within  them  between  their  grief  and  their  won- 
der, their  disappointment  and  their  surprise,  and 
also  manifested  their  inability  to  reconcile  the  suf- 
ferings and  shameful  death  of  their  Master  with 
the  conceptions  which  they,  as  Jews,  had  formed 
of  his  dignity  and  glory  as  the  Messiah  of  Israel, 


CHRIST   WITH    US   AT   EVENING.  345 

Jesus,  still  unrevealed  to  them,  rebuked  them  as 
"  slow  of  heart  to  believe  all  that  the  prophets 
have  spoken,"  and  asked  them  whether  it  was 
not  in  conformity  with  the  prophetical  writings, 
properly  interpreted,  that  the  Messiah  should 
have  suffered  thus,  as  an  entrance  into  his  true 
glory.  "Ought  not,"  he  said,  "Christ  to  have 
suffered  these  things,  and  to  enter  into  his  glo- 
ry ?"  And  then,  directing  their  attention  to  the 
real  character  of  the  Messiah,  and  reconciling  hu- 
miliation and  suffering  with  success  and  glory, 
"he  expounded  unto  them  in  all  the  Scriptures 
the  things  concerning  himself." 

While  he  was  thus  unfolding,  as  no  one  else 
could  have  unfolded,  the  true  and  spiritual  mean- 
ing of  the  holy  writings,  his  words  and  manner 
exerted  their  accustomed  influence  over  his  disci- 
ples. Their  hearts  confessed  a  wonted  power, 
and  strangely  "  burned  within  them "  with  the 
glow  of  awakened  sensations  and  memories.  In 
this  manner  "they  drew  nigh  unto  the  village 
whither  they  went ;  and  he  made  as  though  he 
would  have  gone  further."  But  they,  anxious  to 
secure  more  of  the  company  and  conversation  of 
one  who  had  so  deeply  interested  them,  urged 
him  to  stay  with  them,  and  adduced  the  lateness 


346  CHRIST    WITH    US    AT    EVENING. 

of  the  hour  as  an  argument  for  his  remaining  — 
saying,  "  Abide  with  us,  for  it  is  toward  evening, 
and  the  day  is  far  spent."  Jesus  consented,  and 
"  went  in  to  tarry  with  them.'1  And  it  came  to 
pass,  as  he  sat  at  meat  with  them,  he  took  bread, 
and  blessed  it,  and  brake,  and  gave  to  them." 
Probably  there  was  something  in  this  usual  act, 
and  in  the  words  which  accompanied  it,  by  which 
their  Master  was  revealed  unto  them.  But  in 
whatever  way  it  was  effected,  "their  eyes  were 
opened,  and  they  knew  him."  He  then  "van- 
ished out  of  their  sight ;  "  leaving  them  to  say  to 
one  another,  "  Did  not  our  heart  burn  within  us, 
while  he  talked  with  us  by  the  way,  and  while 
he  opened  to  us  the  Scriptures?"  That  same 
hour  they  returned  to  Jerusalem,  to  relate  what 
had  taken  place,  and  to  confirm  by  their  testi- 
mony the  resurrection  of  their  beloved  Lord. 

There  is  much  in  that  evening  scene  between 
Jerusalem  and  Emmaus,  which  we  may  profit- 
ably apply  to  our  own  hearts.  Whenever  the 
day  is  far  spent,  and  the  evening  is  coming  on, 
we  may  join  those  two  disciples  in  spirit,  and 
adopt  their  words,  and  ask  the  Saviour  of  men  to 
abide  with  us. 

1 .  And  first,  we  may  express  this  desire  for  the 


CHRIST  WITH  US  AT  EVENING.       347 

Saviour's  companionship,  at  the  time  of  the  natu- 
ral evening.  At  that  calm  and  holy  time,  when 
the  sounds  of  the  world's  business  are  ceasing, 
one  after  another,  and  the  air  is  growing  still,  and 
our  souls  are  insensibly  disposed  to  harmonize 
with  the  time,  and  also  to  become  quiet  and  still, 
whose  company  may  we  more  fitly  seek,  than 
that  of  the  meek,  peaceful  and  sinless  Jesus  ? 
During  the  day,  it  may  be,  while  the  sun  was 
climbing  up  the  sky,  and  the  race  and  contest  of 
worldly  pursuits  and  competitions  were  going 
vigorously  on,  our  thoughts  have  been  hurried 
into  the  midst  of  them,  and  in  that  turmoil  have 
been  excited  and  vexed,  bewildered,  and  then  fa- 
tigued even  to  exhaustion.  But  when  the  sun 
declines,  and  the  fever  of  the  strife  is  passing  off, 
our  thoughts  are  inclined  to  leave  the  crowd,  and 
enter  into  more  green  and  solitary  ways,  that 
they  may  have  a  season  of  recovery  and  rest. 
Then  it  is  that  the  Saviour,  who  is  always  ready 
to  meet  sober  and  prepared  hearts,  may  join  us, 
and  walk  with  us,  and  then  it  is  that  we  may  in- 
duce him  to  abide  with  us.  For  the  Master  may 
abide  with  disciples  even  now,  though  not  in  the 
body,  yet  essentially,  and  as  effectually  as  ever, 
in  the  influences  which  proceed  from  his  life  and 


348  CHRIST   WITH   US    AT   EVENING. 

character,  and  which  join  themselves  to  the  souls 
which  invite  them.  He  abides  with  us,  when  the 
model  of  his  example  is  near  to  us,  and  points 
out  to  us  our  duty.  He  abides  with  us,  when 
the  thought  of  his  love  toward  us,  and  his  suffer- 
ings undergone  for  us,  comes  with  power  to  our 
hearts,  causing  them  to  burn  within  us.  He 
abides  with  us,  really  and  truly  abides  with  us, 
when  his  own  spirit  dwells  with  us;  when  we 
feel  that  we  sympathize  with  him  in  those  pious 
sentiments  which  filled  his  breast,  and  those  be- 
nevolent purposes  which  guided  his  course  on 
earth ;  when  we  enjoy  the  contemplation  of  his 
holiness,  and  are  sure  that  we  are  made  better  by 
the  contemplation.  Thus  it  is  that  he  abides 
with  us.  And  how  can  we  receive  into  our  affec- 
tions a  more  profitable  guest.  ?  When  the  day  is 
far  spent,  who,  as  he,  can  speak  to  us  on  the  most 
wise  and  gainful  use  of  our  fleeting  hours  ?  Who, 
as  he,  can  teach  us  to  improve  our  daily  opportu- 
nities, to  dispose  of  our  daily  cares,  to  discern  be- 
tween the  innocent  and  the  hurtful,  the  true  and 
the  false,  the  right  and  the  wrong?  Certainly 
there  is  no  one  who  can  discharge  as  he  can  the 
office  of  instructer  and  friend,  and  prepare  us  by 
evening  admonitions  for  morning  watchfulness 


CHRIST   WITH    US   AT   EVENING.  349 

and  daily  work.  Seriously  and  kindly  he  will 
inquire  of  us  what  we  have  done  during  the  past 
day.  If  we  have  done  ill,  he  will  move  us  to  re- 
pentance ;  if  we  have  done  well,  he  will  crown  us 
with  his  approbation.  If  we  have  done  nothing, 
but  have  been  standing  all  the  day  idle,  he  will 
incite  us  by  all  those  motives  which  are  most 
prevalent  with  the  better  nature,  to  redouble  our 
diligence  for  the  days  which  may  remain  to  us, 
in  order  that  we  may,  as  far  as  possible,  repair 
our  loss. 

Let  us  call  to  mind  some  of  the  characters  and 
accompaniments  of  the  natural  evening,  and 
mark  how  the  presence  of  Christ  and  his  religion 
harmonizes  with  them,  and  exalts  them. 

Peace  comes  with  evening.  It  is  a  gentle  and 
a  soothing  season.  But  the  peace  of  Christ  abid- 
ing with  us,  will  make  it  yet  more  peaceful ;  be- 
cause it  is  the  answer  of  the  internal  to  the  exter- 
nal; the  quietness  of  the  bosom  rendering  more 
profound  and  grateful  the  quietness  of  the  atmos- 
phere, of  the  land,  and  of  the  ocean;  and  because 
it  alone  can  give  security  against  the  fears  of 
darkness,  the  disturbances  and  alarms  of  night. 
It  is  a  peace  which  corrects  all  that  harshness  of 
our  humanity,  which  is  apt  to  disturb  with  its 


350  CHRIST   WITH    US    AT    EVENING. 

dissonance  the  repose  of  nature,  or  render  us  im- 
penetrable to  its  influences. 

The  soft,  broad  shadows  come  with  evening. 
They  close  round  us  as  if  they  would  envelop 
and  shade  the  spirit,  too  much  heated  and  wearied 
before,  giving  it  time  for  restoration.  But  how 
much  safer  and  more  quiet  is  the  spirit,  if  by  the 
side  of  the  Son  of  God,  it  claims  a  higher  protec- 
tion, and  takes  refuge  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Almighty. 

The  dews  come  with  evening.  They  gather 
coolly  on  the  drooping  leaves,  and  stand  in  refresh- 
ing drops  on  all  the  panting  flower  cups,  and  on 
every  blade  of  grass ;  but  it  is  only  the  Christian, 
only  he  who  places  his  hope  in  Christ,  and  with 
whom  Christ  is  abiding,  who  can  tell  with  what 
a  reviving  efficacy  the  dews  of  heavenly  grace 
fall  down  upon  the  drooping  soul. 

The  bright  stars  come  out  with  evening.  Splen- 
didly they  shine,  and  solemnly,  those  mighty  orbs 
—  so  far  away  that  every  beam  from  them,  with 
all  its  swiftness,  has  required  years  for  its  journey 
hither  ;  — but  with  a  more  intelligent  brightness 
will  they  shine,  if  Christ  be  with  us,  to  lead  our 
adoring  thoughts  to  the  Almighty  Father  who 
feeds  them  with  their  light,  and  has  prepared  a 


CHRIST    WITH   US   AT    EVENING.  351 

place  yet  more  elevated  and  more  glorious  than 
theirs,  in  which  his  redeemed  children  shall  dwell 
with  him  for  ever. 

Sleep  comes  with  evening.  But  let  us  not  lie 
down,  as  do  the  flocks  and  herds  in  the  fields, 
without  a  prayer  to  him  who  sends  us  slumber ; 
for  we  are  capable  of  religion,  and  they  are  not. 
Sweetly  will  sleep  fall  upon  our  eyelids,  if  we 
have  been  holding  communion  with  our  Saviour 
in  heavenly-mindedness,  and,  as  if  we  heard  from 
him  the  words  of  kind  permission,  "  sleep  on 
now,  and  take  your  rest,"  we  can  commend 
ourselves  in  confidence  to  the  Watchman  of 
Israel. 

2.  The  day  which  was  far  spent  when  the  two 
disciples  stopped  at  Emmaus,  was  the  day  of  our 
Lord's  resurrection.  It  was  the  first  Christian 
Sabbath ;  the  first  Lord's  Day.  The  associations 
which  belong  to  that  day,  and  the  sacred  observ- 
ances to  which  it  has  been  devoted,  have  made  it 
the  weekly  Sabbath  of  Christians.  Sabbath  is 
rest.  For  its  rest,  for  its  silence,  for  its  holiness, 
the  Sabbath  may  be  likened  to  the  evening.  It  is 
the  evening  of  the  week.  At  this  season  then,  so 
especially  consecrated  to  the  Saviour,  he  may 
especially  abide  with  us.  Indeed  we  would  meet 


352  CHRIST    WITH    US    AT   EVENING. 

him  every  day,  and  every  evening  we  would  ask 
him  to  abide  with  us  ;  but  on  this  evening  of  the 
week,  his  abiding  with  us  may  be  more  than  usu- 
ally confidential  and  uninterrupted.  Who  shall 
interrupt  it  with  the  noises  of  the  world?  To 
break  in  upon  the  devotion  of  the  Lord's  Sabbath, 
and  upon  the  repose  which  is  connected  with  that 
devotion,  with  no  plea  but  one's  indifference  or 
one's  fancy,  is  as  barbarous  a  thing,  and  as  offen- 
sive to  right  feeling,  as  if  the  rude  and  hasty  sounds 
of  business  were  to  be  wakened  up  at  nightfall,  to 
rend  and  break  asunder  the  calmness  of  eventide, 
and  tramp  and  rattle  through  the  offended  dark- 
ness. One  profanation  is  as  great  as  the  other. 
Let  the  evening  of  the  week,  as  the  evening  of 
the  day,  be  preserved  in  quietness,  that  we  may 
commune  with  the  Lord  of  this  Sabbath,  and  he 
may  expound  to  us  the  Scriptures,  and  abide  with 
us  in  peace. 

3.  But  there  is  another  evening.  This  our  life 
is  called  a  day,  and  it  has  its  evening,  —  which 
many  of  our  race,  however,  are  not  permitted  to 
see.  It  is  when  the  sun,  which  rose  on  our  birth, 
and  glanced  its  morning  beams  on  the  hours  of 
our  childhood  and  youth,  has  passed  the  meridian 
of  our  short  maturity,  and  now  drops  down 


CHRIST   WITH   US    AT    EVENING.  353 

toward  the  place  of  its  setting,  to  rise  no  more  in 
this  world.  The  morning  has  passed  away  — 
how  quickly !  —  with  its  early  lights  and  fresh 
tints;  and  perhaps  its  promises  and  aspirations, 
like  silver  mists,  have  exhaled  into  the  thin  air. 
The  hot  passions  and  noontide  turbulences  of  busy 
manhood  are  assuaged.  The  loud  winds  are 
lulled.  Coolness,  moderation,  and  repose,  as  they 
betoken  the  natural  evening,  so  are  they  the  signs 
of  man's  closing  day.  Old  age  is  the  evening  of 
life. 

And  when  this  our  own  day  is  far  spent,  and 
the  evening  is  at  hand,  shall  we  not  desire  that 
the  Saviour  may  abide  with  us?  Shall  we  not 
need  his  company  in  our  solitariness ;  his  conver- 
sation and  instruction  during  the  sober  twilight 
season ;  his  help  in  our  weakness ;  his  prayers  for 
the  approaching  night? 

Has  he  been  with  us  through  the  day  ?  Did 
our  hearts  seek  him  early,  even  in  the  morning ; 
and  have  our  advancing  steps  been  guided  by  his 
counsel ;  or  if  we  wandered,  did  we  hear  his  voice 
and  return  ?  If  so,  then  we  cannot  now  permit 
him  to  depart  from  us,  but,  having  enjoyed  his 
sacred  fellowship  thus  far,  we  shall  earnestly  be- 
seech him  to  abide  with  us  to  the  end,  and  be 


354  CHRIST    WITH    US    AT    EVENING. 

more  and  more  near  to  us,  as  the  darkness  falls 
faster  around  us.  If  we  have  experienced  the 
happiness  and  safety  of  Christian  faith  in  our  past 
life,  we  surely  cannot  dispense  with  it,  when  the 
joys  of  earth  are  becoming  more  few,  and  friends 
are  dropping  away,  and  our  eyes  are  growing  dim, 
and  that  last  hour  of  the  evening  is  drawing  nigh, 
when  nothing  but  faith  can  yield  a  ray  of  light  to 
our  spirit,  or  put  a  staff  into  its  hand,  as  it  enters 
the  valley  alone.  If  Christ  have  journeyed  with 
us  in  our  youth  and  strength,  — and  happy  may 
we  be  accounted  if  he  have  —  it  is  incredible  that 
we  should  suffer  him  to  leave  us,  when  the  journey 
is  almost  accomplished,  and  we  are  weary,  help- 
less, and  old. 

But  it  may  be,  that  he  has  not  journeyed  with 
us  in  our  youth  and  strength,  and  that  our  day, 
far  spent  as  it  is,  has  been  spent  without  him  and 
away  from  him.  If  this  be  our  case,  it  is  mourn- 
ful, but  not  yet  hopeless.  The  Saviour  is  still 
within  hearing.  The  pardon  and  peace  of  the 
Gospel  may  be  found,  though  sought  late,  if  they 
be  sought  sincerely  and  with  deep  penitence.  Let 
us  thus  seek  them  in  our  decay,  if  we  foolishly 
slighted  them  in  our  prime.  Or  do  we,  with  a 
more  marvellous  folly,  think  that  we  cannot  de- 


CHRIST    WITH   US    AT    EVENING.  355 

cay  ?  Are  we  so  blind  and  infatuated,  that  while 
the  hand  on  our  life's  dial  points  to  threescore  and 
ten,  we  will  not  be  persuaded  that  the  night  is 
nigh  1  To  see  a  young  man  without  the  beauty 
of  religious  feelings,  principles  and  hopes,  is  a  sight 
of  sufficient  sadness;  but  to  see  an  old  man  with- 
out its  supports,  consolations  and  fruits,  without 
holiness,  without  Christ,  is  truly  deplorable.  How 
can  they,  whose  remaining  moments  are  not 
many,  refrain  from  seeking  him  immediately,  im- 
ploring him  to  abide  with  them,  and  asking  his 
neglected  but  still  indulgent  blessing  on  their  gray 
hairs?  Why  will  they  not  go  to  him  at  once, 
saying,  "  Friend  of  sinners  !  abide  with  us,  for  we 
have  no  help  or  hope  but  in  thee  and  God ;  — 
abide  with  us,  for  our  day  is  far  spent,  our  sun  is 
going  down,  and  the  evening  is  darkly  closing 
in ! " 

And  yet  not  one  half  of  those  who  are  born 
into  this  world,  my  friends,  see  the  evening  of 
old  age.  And  though  we  all  did,  it  still  would 
be  our  best  wisdom  to  seek  the  Lord  betimes,  to 
make  religion  our  early  companion,  and  not  to  lose 
in  folly,  or  abuse  in  sin,  our  morning  and  our 
noon.  But  the  shadows  often  fall  from  the  moun- 
tains before  we  look  for  them.  The  night  of  death 


356  CHRIST   WITH   US    AT    EVENING. 

often  comes  down  suddenly,  and  unushered  by 
the  gradual  evening.  It  is  then  our  only  safe 
course  to  engage  the  Saviour  to  abide  with  us 
constantly,  as  if  it  were  always  toward  evening, 
and  our  own  day  were  far  spent.  And  while 
this  course  is  the  only  safe,  it  is  also  the  only 
happy  one.  A  state  of  preparation  is  far  from 
being  a  state  of  inquietude  and  gloom.  It  need 
not  disturb  one  joy  of  life.  It  ought  rather  to  en- 
hance them  all.  Nor  can  there  be  any  gloom, 
where  Christ  truly  abides.  His  presence  dis- 
perses all  terrors.  Unhappy  is  he  who  prepares 
not ;  and  postpones  from  time  to  time  the  secu- 
rity of  the  Saviour's  companionship.  It  is  he 
who  is  exposed  to  the  terror  by  night,  and  the  ar- 
row by  day.  It  is  he  whose  condition  is  gloomy. 
When  we  know  that  death  may  be  near  at  any 
moment,  how  can  we  suffer  the  Redeemer  to  be 
at  any  moment  away  from  us?  How  can  we 
think  serenely  of  the  impending  night,  if  we 
have  no  interest  in  him  who  is  the  Light  of  men  ? 
How  can  we  anticipate  the  sleep  of  the  grave 
with  any  calmness,  if  we  have  no  hope  of  sleep- 
ing in  Jesus,  no  trust  that  the  morning  of  the 
resurrection  will  shine  brightly  on  our  waking 
eyes  ?  —  The  night  cometh  ;  but  when  we  do  not 


CHRIST    WITH   US    AT    EVENING. 

know.  The  disciple  will,  at  all  seasons,  and 
through  every  hour,  keep  near  to  his  Master. 
He  will  say  to  him,  Abide  with  me  always !  — 

"  Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  thee  I  cannot  live  ; 
Abide  with  me  when  death  is  nigh, 
For  without  thee  I  dare  not  die  !  " 

JULY  15,  1832. 


THE   END- 


to. 


L-L'    K  T    ^        I 

"B.BR_AOLEY     | 

—   I 
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